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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26088238">You Make Loving Fun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Braxiatel_Collection/pseuds/Braxiatel_Collection'>Braxiatel_Collection</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RuPaul's Drag Race RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1970s, F/F, Period-Typical Homophobia, Soft lesbian yearnings cos im a soft lesbian, Trixie's a rich kid, cis wlws, katya's a gardener, they're american but it's set in England</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:55:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,720</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26088238</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Braxiatel_Collection/pseuds/Braxiatel_Collection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1975, and Beatrice Mattel can feel a change coming. It's whizzing towards her, faster than she can comprehend, and for the first time a future where she doesn't have to marry a rich boy and pop out some babies is coming closer.<br/>A new gardener arrives at her house, a strange girl who doesn't know anything about gardening, a girl who shows her that the future, just maybe, could be bright.<br/>Why? Because it's 1975, and David Bowie's on the radio, and anything is possible.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Little Sister</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey guys! This idea came to me in the bath, which in my opinion is the best place to have ideas! This is my first time publishing a fic so I'm a little nervous, but hopefully it shouldn't suck too much! hehe.<br/>The title came from a Fleetwood Mac song that I've been listening to A LOT in quarantine, and yes I know that album came out in 1977, but it fit so perfectly that I just decided to rewrite history and make it come out in 1975 in my universe. <br/>Read. Enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey kittens! Thanks so much for clicking on this! I don't know how long it'll be, but hopefully it'll be exciting and good... bwhaha. I'm gonna be putting a song at the beginning of every chapter, the song that I listened to most while writing it or a song that captures the mood.<br/>I hope you enjoy, and thank you for coming on this journey with me! Much love -mwah!</p><p> </p><p>Song for this chapter: Little Sister by Trixie Mattel</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
Prologue<br/>
~A change was coming. I could feel it. In every morning, every restless night, I could feel the change calling out to me. It wasn’t like the change people sing about in musicals. I’d seen West Side Story five times with my friends whenever the local Odeon played it, and it wasn’t like when Tony sings ‘Something’s Coming.’ It was the feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down over a vast landscape that stretches forever: a well of bubbling fear in my stomach from balancing on my tiptoes on a crumbling precipice… but also a sense of beauty, of awe, of sparking excitement at the prospect of a new life. The only question was: could I leap into the unknown? Or would she stay where I was, safe and cautious, but forever wondering what my life would look like if I took that jump. ~</p><p> </p><p>Chapter One</p><p>“Beatrice!” Mother called from downstairs, putting on her delicate lace gloves and straightening her fancy Sunday Best hat, admiring herself in the mirror.</p><p>“Yes, Mother?” I replied, popping my head out from behind the door of my bedroom.</p><p>“Don’t you ‘yes, Mother’ me. I’ve been calling you for half an hour, we’re going to be late for church. Your brother and sister have been ready for hours while you were lazing in bed. Honestly Beatrice, sometimes, I don’t even know what to do with you…” </p><p>Mother’s voice trailed off into the background as I slowly peeled off into my bedroom, firmly closing the door behind. I couldn’t think of anything I’d less like to be doing than church – I wished I could take advantage of the empty house and get in an hour’s practice on my guitar (something I could rarely do with a full house; Mother always complained about the noise and my siblings would sit outside the door and laugh at my playing), but Mother would never let me stay at home by myself. It was all part of her plan to train her up to be a good, God-fairing Christian girl that would one day find a nice husband and settle down in an upper-class house in the country with seven bedrooms, six bathrooms and a greenhouse. But somehow I knew this future was not going to be mine. I knew times were changing, I’d heard about the sexual revolution and Women’s Lib and a host of other movements that I so badly wanted to be a part of – but the change never seemed to happen to me.</p><p>Oh, well. May as well go to church in the meantime.</p><p>I was already dressed in one of my favourite flowery dresses, with white tights and buckled sandals (I had to endure the fashion torture of wearing flats, my mother really would hit the roof if I showed up at church wearing heels), so all that was needed was to run a comb through my blonde waves and dash downstairs.</p><p>“Finally,” Mother sighed sarcastically as I jumped down the last couple of stairs and landed with a flourish at the bottom. “Honestly Beatrice, you are so awful at timekeeping, and- honestly, this dress is far too short,” she snapped, tugging at the hem.</p><p>“Stop it, Mother,” I flapped her off, embarrassed by her protectiveness and terrified she’d rip it.</p><p>“I’ll allow it for today, seeing as we’re late already. But mind you wear something decent next weekend. You can’t afford getting a reputation. Now, William, Charlotte, shall we go?” She held out her hands to my two younger siblings who clung to her like blonde monkeys. The three of them marched ahead down the lane, while I slunk behind. </p><p>I hated still living with my family. When I was eighteen I’d wished more than anything to go off to university and study English or Music or Philosophy, and for once feel in control of my own life. But Mother firmly believed that a woman’s place was that of a wife, a mother, not an academic or a singer. So here I was, nineteen years old, stuck in a huge lonely old house in the English countryside like it was 1875. But it was 1975 and the air crackled with possibility. Part of me still believed that I’d escape one day and be free… all I needed was some courage.</p><p>The service dragged on. The vicar droned for what seemed like hours about a Higher Power and Lord Eternal and Omnipotence. I’d been going to church all my life but the words squiggled round my brain like moths, never leaving an impact. It didn’t make any sense to me. But church to me was just another chore to endure to make my mother happy. Soon, I told myself, I’d be rid of it. Soon, when I had my own life. Soon.</p><p>Finally, it was over, and we were released into the dusty July morning. It was swelteringly hot in the church, and I closed my eyes and breathed in the sweet air, letting the breeze dance on my face and tickle the ends of my hair.</p><p>“We’ve got to hurry home, children. We’ve got a new gardener arriving in an hour and I need to greet them and tell them what I want done.” Mother twittered up the lane, smiling and waving her fingers at her equally vacuous socialite friends. I took little interest in what she was saying, we had a string of gardeners and maids and cooks and God knows what else that lived in our house, but I rarely talked to them or had any contact with them. So I took my siblings’ hands and swung them fast up and down, until they were both red in the face from giddy laughter and I had brightened up my gloomy mood a little.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Toothless Tiger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey y'all!<br/>These chapters are gonna be quite short but I'll hopefully update them frequently.<br/>We have first contact (heh) in this chapter, with some cheesy eye descriptions because I love the Great Gatsby and also Katya's eyes.<br/>Enjoy</p><p>Song for this chapter: Toothless Tiger by Jen Cloher</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When we got back, a skinny figure wearing all black was standing by the door. All black, in this weather? I didn’t take much interest in them, preparing to run to my room and scribble out some of my frustration into a song, but when we finally trudged up the long driveway and reached the figure, all plans of a song flooded quickly out of my head. The girl was tall and willowy, with shoulder-length tousled curls and a short choppy fringe. On anyone else it would have looked ridiculous, but something about her made it look flawless. She was wearing a bunched black dress, all over frills and dangling fabric, and her mouth was painted a deep, dark red. All of this was hypnotising in itself, but when my eyes drifted up to meet hers I felt as if someone had thrown a football at my chest and all the wind was knocked out of my body. Her eyes were blue – no, blue doesn’t fully describe them They were electric, they were alive, turquoise and green swirling around like a crystal ball. They looked like a stream running in a forest that no human has ever crossed before, full of mystery.</p><p>My momentary speechlessness allowed Mother to bundle past me and shake hands with the girl. “It’s to nice to meet you,” she said haughtily. I noted with disdain that she subtly affected her voice to sound more upper-class. She was most likely taken aback with the girl’s somewhat scruffy appearance. “I’m so sorry, I thought the agency was sending a man, Miss…”</p><p>“Zamolodchikova. It’s Yekaterina. But, uh, Katya’s fine. And yes, they were going to, but he broke his leg a couple of days ago and didn’t have a replacement. I was around, looking for a gig, so I said I’d do it,” she replied, ending on a wide smile. I was pleasantly surprised to hear an American accent – we hadn’t heard one of those since Father died five years ago and we moved from Wisconsin to England. Mother seemed similarly taken aback.</p><p>“That’s an… interesting name. But you’re American?” She questioned, pressing her immaculately painted lips together. I rolled my eyes, knowing how she’d heard the foreign-sounding name and her upper-class Socialist alarm bells were ringing. I already felt defensive of this girl, and hated the idea of Mother disapproving of her. I turned my back and watched William and Charlotte draw shapes in the dust of the front drive with a stick.</p><p>“I was born to Russian parents in Boston, ma’am. They didn’t feel the need to stick around, so they named me and both kicked the bucket. But I’ve been in Boston my whole life. American first, Russian second.” Katya rebuffed, ending the statement so formally and rehearsed it sounded like a salute. I snorted slightly and Katya caught my eye, a tiny smirk on her lips, and I felt a jab of adrenaline shoot through to the pit of my stomach. At least Mother seemed satisfied.</p><p>“Oh, thank goodness! Even with detenté, you never can be too careful!” She chortled in her false, tinkling laugh. My skin crawled in irritation. “Now, you’re an experienced gardener?”</p><p>Katya nodded cheerfully. </p><p>“Lovely. Beatrice will show you to your room so you can unpack and freshen up, and then I’ll show you what I want doing.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm imagining Katya's dress as a mix between the one in 'Shame' and the one in 'Drugs'. Do with that what ya will</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I'm Every Woman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a pure fluff chapter, just our girls getting to know each other and having a fun time being Gal Pals<br/>Enjoy! :D</p><p>Song for this chapter: I'm Every Woman by Chaka Khan</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Katya smiled kindly and I picked up her bag – curiously, I noticed, she only had one old, battered bag. Did she know this was a permanent position? Where were all her possessions? I opened my mouth to make some smart comment, but looking into her face again I felt a sudden wave of shyness. She was so cool, so collected, so beautiful, and who was I? Some random child who couldn’t string two words together. I shut my mouth again, hoping she wouldn’t clock my self-deprecating blush. I meekly nodded my head in the direction of her room and she smiled kindly again, though I couldn’t help wondering if it was in the same way someone smiles at an adorable dog, or a child. When we’d been walking in heavy silence for around thirty seconds, Katya turned to me.</p><p>“So, Beatrice…” she started, but I must have shown disgust on my face as she used the outdated name my mother called me. “What’s wrong?” she asked.</p><p>“Oh, nothing… just. I hate that name. Beatrice.” I replied, unable to stop myself. She tilted her head and crinkled her eyes in a relaxed grin. </p><p>“Oh? What’s wrong with it?” </p><p>“It’s so old-fashioned and… bleugh. I like to be called Trixie,” I gabbled. It felt so good to tell Katya my preferred name that I started to relax around her. </p><p>“Trixie…” she experimented, rolling the word round in her mouth. “As you wish, красивая девушка.” I started at the unexpected foreign language. After blinking for a few seconds, I managed to stutter out a sentence.</p><p>“That sounds incredibly American first, Russian second,” I shyly quipped. For a second I was terrified I’d crossed a line - the playful remark had just slipped out of me - but I heard a cackle beside me and turned to look in bewilderment. Katya’s mouth was open so wide I could see every one of her perfect teeth and a wheezing chuckle was issuing out of her at such an alarming rate I was scared she was going to have a coughing fit.</p><p>“Oh, doll, you found me out! I am a filthy Russian first! Are you gonna tell your Momma on me?” she posed it as a joke, but I could hear the hints of a pointed question underneath the light-heartedness. </p><p>“No. I’m not,” I replied, and she visibly relaxed. “I’ve already hauled your bag this far, and who can be bothered to take it all the way back to the front door?”</p><p>She cackled again. “Thank you, милая. Now, you’ve found out my first big secret, you have to figure out my second.” She said it regally, with a teasing veil of importance. I put on a big performance of thinking hard, finger tapping my chin, while in reality racking my brains as to what it could be. </p><p>“Well, we’ve reached your room. You’ll have to tell me while making your bed,” I told her, pushing open the door. It was only a simple room, with a basic bed, basin and chest of drawers, but Katya seemed in awe of it. </p><p>“Wow, look at this place! Look at that window! I can catch the perfect morning light!” she marvelled, rushing over to the window, hauling it open and perching herself on the windowsill, gazing out longingly. I placed her bag on the bed and went to stand next to her. </p><p>“If you’re up that early in the morning. I’m never up before ten if I can help it,” I remarked. She gazed at me.</p><p>“How?! I’m always up with the morning lark, five o’clock most days. Nothing can ever compare to strolling through a field at sunrise, just you and the birds and the dew in the grass. Pure heaven.” She sighed dreamily. I really liked seeing her like this.</p><p>“In the early morning breeze…” I gently sang some Dolly Parton. I’d recently bought her album Jolene and had listened to it non-stop for months. Katya widened her eyes when I sang.</p><p>“You have a beautiful voice! Is that your song?” she asked. I shook my head, smiling.</p><p>“I wish! No, it’s a Dolly Parton. You know her?” She shook her head and I widened my eyes, mock-offended.</p><p>“Anyway, you still haven’t told me this big secret! I must hear it straight away.” Her eyes clouded with forgetfulness for a second, then brightened. </p><p>“Oh yeah! I’m not a gardener. I don’t know the first thing about gardens.” She declared. I boggled.</p><p>“You… don’t…” I stuttered.</p><p>“I don’t know anything about gardens, yeah. I don’t belong to an agency that sends out gardeners to rich folks. I just happened to be in an office one day when I overheard some people discussing something about a guy who’d broken his leg and couldn’t go to a gardening job. I kinda sorta didn’t have a job or a place to live at that point so I said I’d do it and here we are!” she said all this so cheerfully that I started to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. My mother was expecting a gardener who could trim her bushes into fancy topiary and bloom hothouse roses by the dozen. She looked quizzically at my laughter, but every time she did it sent me into further giggles and soon I was letting out my hideous scream laugh. We both collapsed into hopeless peals of laughter, Katya reaching to grab my arm and my leg, with bolts of electricity tingling me every time she did. I half expected a ‘zzz’ noise to sound every time she touched me. </p><p>“Oh, Trixie,” she gasped through her laughter. “I think I’m going to like it here.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Early Morning Breeze</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A chat in the sunrise.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello kittens! I recently rewatched Pride and Prejudice (2005) and had sudden inspiration to write a soft scene set in a field at sunrise, so here we are!<br/>Thank you if you've actually been reading this - it's a little terrifying knowing there are actual people out there reading the incoherent babblings I write at 6 in the morning, but thank you so much for doing so!<br/>Enjoy :D</p><p>Song for this chapter: Early Morning Breeze by Dolly Parton</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunlight dazzled my eyes before I even opened them. I had no idea what time it was, but I figured it was early. Forcing open my eyelids, I peered at the clock on my bedside table and was astounded to discover it was 5:46am. Nearly four hours before I normally woke! I groaned, rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, but it was hopeless: I was well and truly awake. Sighing, I sat up and dragged a hand across my eyes. </p><p>Suddenly I remembered what Katya said last night. I was curious as to what she liked so much about going for a walk in the mornings. I couldn’t get dressed without making too much of a racket, so I pulled on a shawl and slipped my feet into my old sneakers, carelessly tying the laces. I have to admit I felt a little excited to be going out on my own – I’d had so little independence in my life so far, even something as little as this sparked flames of rebellion in the pit of my stomach. I had to supress a maniac giggle as I tiptoed downstairs and eased open the rusty old side door. </p><p>Once I was out in the bright sunlight, I stood for a minute and simply breathed in the sweet morning air. It smelt so fresh, so clean, it was so cold I could feel it burning in my lungs. I was sure I’d never felt a sensation more exciting. Heading off in the direction of the nearest field, I started walking but after a while I couldn’t hold myself back anymore so starting sprinting, the wind tangling my hair, my shawl trailing behind me. </p><p>The sight of the field at sunrise was, quite simply, breath-taking. The golden sunlight glinted off the tiny drops of dew still smattered on the grass. I felt almost afraid to take a step into the whole scene, it seemed sacrilegious to disturb it. But then the soft melody of bird call caught my attention, and the child in me exploded out: running, skipping, attempting cartwheels. I lifted my head and sang into the endlessly blue sky, laughing louder than I’d ever laughed before, revelling in the unbridled joy of it all. </p><p>Suddenly my foot caught on my trailing shoelace, and I jerked sideways, falling so fast I couldn’t react. Just before I hit the ground a pair of strong, warm arms caught me round the waist and held me steady. The sunlight was in my eyes and confused me for a second, so I couldn’t tell who it was who held me. </p><p>“What a nice way to say good morning!” a familiar voice quipped, and I jolted upwards, sudden embarrassment shrivelling inside me.</p><p>“Katya!” I giggled nervously. “W… what are you doing here?”</p><p>She bent down to retrieve the items she’d dropped to catch me: a battered, dog-eared old book and a half-eaten apple. “I came here to catch the sunrise, and to explore! There are so many fields around here I wanted to suss out the best to do yoga in,” she explained. I had no idea what yoga was, but I had so many burning questions to ask her about her life it seemed such a small question in comparison. I added it to the list. She gestured for me to sit down next to her, and then she wrapped a slightly damp picnic blanket around both of our shoulders. </p><p>“What are you doing here, sweetie?” she asked me in return. I confessed shyly that I’d been compelled to walk in a field at sunrise after hearing her talk so passionately about it, and watched her eyes light up. </p><p>“I really make that big of an impression on you, huh,” she murmured. It didn’t feel like the kind of statement to make a smart reply to, so we sat in comfortable silence for a while, with no sound but the crescendo of bird songs and her occasionally crunching at her apple. </p><p>“Hey, Katya,” I nudged her. </p><p>“Yes, sweetie?” </p><p>“How did you end up in England? If I was from Boston I don’t think I’d ever want to leave,” She cackled a little at this.</p><p>“Obviously you’ve never been there! No, when my parents died I knew there was nothing for me in Boston any more. I’ve been all over the place: I lived in Los Angeles for a while, making coffee for movie stars and such. I had to pack that in when the photographer I was staying with found me in bed with one of his models and threw a painting at my head. Then I skipped down to San Francisco, did a couple of protests there with Harvey Milk and his crew. I had a blast there, but it wasn’t exactly the lap of luxury. I went hungry most days and slept on the streets. Then, one day I was sleeping down the docks and I overheard that they needed an extra hand on a cargo ship to Thailand! I mean, I had to take it, how many times would I have the opportunity to go to Thailand? Those days on the ship were awful, I had to cramp down in the bowels of the ship with the rats and I was sick as a dog. But when I got to Thailand, it was incredible. I just chilled out and smoked weed and learned yoga for months. But after a while I got restless and knew I needed to move on. I heard a Simon and Garfunkel song on a jukebox somewhere, you know the one that goes ‘to England, where my heart lies… lalala…’ So the next day I stowed away on a ship to England, broke some hearts, ended up in an office somewhere, and got posted here!”</p><p>I was speechless. There was nothing but silence as her words hung in the air between us, our breath making soft clouds every time we breathed out.</p><p>“How old are you?”</p><p>“Twenty-three,” she replied cheerfully. I felt so childish, so inadequate in comparison. By the time she was my age, she was having adventures and making something of her life, and what had I accomplished? I’d written a couple of songs, but that was it. How could I in any way match up to her? I was panicking, spiralling in existential self-hatred when a soft voice beside me brought me back to earth with a bump. </p><p>“And how about you, my love? How did your nice little all-American family end up in England?”</p><p>“It’s no way as interesting as you! We lived in Wisconsin until my father died five years ago. He left us a huge pot of money, my mother had desires to become an English socialite and send me and my kid siblings to fancy British finishing schools, so we moved here! I think I like it more than America. Although I haven’t seen much of it.” I gabbled, self-conscious. But Katya’s steady gaze calmed me down, stopped me feeling like I had something to prove to her. </p><p>“Why not?” she asked. It seemed like she was genuinely interested in what I had to say. </p><p>“Oh, I’m not allowed out much. I’ve finished school now, though I was dying to go to university Mother wouldn’t let me. So I go out to her friends’ fancy dinner parties now and again, and I go to the cinema with the kids my age from the village, but I don’t like them much. They don’t want to talk about real things, they just want to talk about boys and gossip about other girls.” I finished with disdain.</p><p>“You ain’t never been to London?” she asked. I shook my head. She boggled.</p><p>“Well, I have to say I’m very jealous. You get to see it for the first time. Your first time in London is something you never forget,” she said, smiling. I smiled too. We sat in compatible silence until the sun had fully risen, and my joints were stiff with cold, and I felt more peaceful than I had in five years.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>it is a truth universally acknowledged that if any young reader left me feedback I would die of happiness on the spot</p><p> </p><p>also, this video is Katya making coffee for actors in LA: https://youtu.be/5HgGgPHYTss</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Lady Grinning Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one's a little sad, I'm sorry!<br/>Probably a trigger for domestic abuse and violence, so if that's gonna make you sad I wouldn't recommend reading this</p><p>I promise, it'll get nicer after this.<br/>Enjoy</p><p>Song for this chapter: Lady Grinning Soul by David Bowie</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I managed to sneak back into my room before the house started to wake up and dodge awkward questions from my siblings or mother. The hours I’d spent with Katya felt so precious, I hated the idea of other people sticking their noses in and discovering the fun we had together. I could just imagine Mother’s disapproving sneers: “don’t fraternise with the staff, Beatrice. They’re not here to be friendly, they’re here to do a job. You don’t want to be giving them ides above their station.” I shuddered a little at the thought. </p><p>I knew very little about politics. Mother was a devoted Tory and often went to rallies and hosted tea parties for Conservative MPs. I couldn’t verbally express it, but something about that never felt quite right to me. Why did some people ‘deserve’ to be poor? It never really made any sense. But I’d never had anyone to educate me on the subject apart from my Conservative neighbours, so I just grew used to the hot sensation of injustice spark in my stomach, and silently disagreed, burning with fury whenever Mother went off on a rant about the group of homeless people who once stayed in the local village, or the women’s rights groups we saw in the newspapers. </p><p>Mother was in a bad mood today. She had good days and bad days – when I was younger, I used to sit at the dining room table waiting for her to come downstairs, guessing whether she was going to be in a good mood or not. Today was going to be hard, I could tell – before we’d even started eating, she was berating everything in sight, from my outfit to Charlotte speaking too loudly to the morning’s newspapers. Deciding I’d rather go hungry than to sit under her grim steely gaze, I slipped back upstairs to my room hoping I could avoid her for the rest of the day. </p><p>I hated being so trapped like this. I wished so badly to get out and explore. The world was so huge, so bursting with colour and life and energy, that it genuinely pained me to be forced to sit inside and sew and practise being a ‘good housewife’. Sometimes in the night, I burst out crying, needing to leave this house so badly. I could feel the first terrifying twinges of panic in my chest, so I hastily flicked the ‘on’ switch on my record player, which already had a Dolly record from the night before balanced on it, and gazed out the window to calm myself. As the record started slowly spinning, I could feel my panic gradually ebbing away. Music was my only escape on days like these – I’d play Dolly or June Carter Cash or Cabaret over and over again until the music all blended into one and the gentle guitar twangs blasted out the racing thoughts in my mind. Calm, Trixie, calm. Count to ten. Hum along to the tune. Stop your hands shaking. </p><p>Three moving shapes caught my eye from the garden, blurred a little from the tears. I blinked furiously for several seconds, then refocused my eyes. It was my brother and sister, happier than I’d ever seen them, accompanied by… Katya. She had her skirts tucked up in her drawers and was as unrestrained as any child, turning cartwheels and skipping around joyfully. Despite myself, I could feel a small smile plucking at my lips. She was teaching William and Charlotte to cartwheel by the looks of it. Their chubby legs flailed around in the grass while she turned cartwheel after endless cartwheel, but they the kids didn’t look disheartened or frustrated at their lack of ability. The most notable thing about the whole scene was that all three of them were grinning, real, wide grins, basking in the warm sunlight. Katya’s hair seemed to shimmer. </p><p>I stood up, preparing to bolt downstairs and join them, but suddenly I saw a shadow marching angrily across the grass. My mother. My smile slipped from my face like melting ice, and a flash of fear crackled in my stomach. I raced downstairs before I could stop myself. </p><p>I arrived in the garden while Mother was mid-sentence. My heart sank as I heard she was yelling.<br/>
“-absolutely unprofessional. I don’t know what you were thinking, Miss Zamo, but I do not view your actions kindly. Your job here is to take care of the garden, not distract my children from their schoolwork and flash your legs around like some common prostitute. I should dismiss you right here and now.” Katya hung her head. William and Charlotte were clinging to her protectively.</p><p>Before I could stop myself, a gasp slipped out of my mouth at my mother’s harsh words. I prayed it was quiet enough that it would be undetected, but my mother whipped her head around, her eyes blazing with fury. I froze. </p><p>“Something to add, Beatrice?”” she snarled. Behind her, Katya minutely shook her head, telling me to save myself and not get involved, but I’d had too many days of mutely agreeing with whatever my mother said. I couldn’t just stand by and watch Katya get fired. I opened my mouth to protest and stuttered for a couple of seconds. </p><p>“I… er…” I trailed off. My mother cocked her head sarcastically.<br/>
“Well?” </p><p>I felt a sudden flood of indignation and fury that fuelled me. I stood up straighter and exhaled sharply through my nose.<br/>
“You can’t fire Katya. If you fire her now the garden will start to die with no one to look after it. By the time you’ve hired someone new it will be irreparable.” I said, sounding far more confident than I was. I had no idea if this would actually happen to the garden, but it seemed the best way to appeal to my mother and get Katya to stay. For a second I wasn’t sure if it would work, but then I saw her head tilt and her nostrils flare as she considered. Finally she nodded.</p><p>“Fine. I won’t fire her. But you…” she turned sharply to Katya, “are not to interact with my children again. And this garden better be blooming within the month.” I felt relief flood through me and my eyes met Katya’s. We both smiled gently, until I felt bony fingers encircle around my wrist and yanked me back to reality. </p><p>“Beatrice, I want a word.” William and Charlotte scattered away as I was dragged into the kitchen. Turning my head back to face Katya, I could see her face creased with worry for me. Fear crackled, hot and dark, within me. </p><p>Once back in the kitchen, my mother roughly jerked me round to face her and slammed the door shut.</p><p>“How dare you talk back to me. I give you everything – a nice house, a good upbringing, fine prospects. And this is how you repay me? I’m sick of the sight of you, Beatrice. You disgust me.” </p><p>I felt my nose ache like it always does when I’m about to cry, and hot tears of frustration clog up my throat, but I forced myself to hold my ground. Something inside me spurred me to fight back.</p><p>“William and Charlotte were having fun. I think it’s disgusting of you to quench that. Or maybe you’re just jealous of Katya, taking better care of them than you ever have-“</p><p>My words were cut short as a harsh slap caught me across the face, forcing all the air out of my lungs, making my eyes bulge with shock and unshed tears.</p><p>“You think you can speak that way to me? You think I don’t notice, but I’ve seen you at church, leeching after all the girls. That’s why you’re so obsessed with Katya. You’re nothing but a filthy dyke, hanging around her like a whining puppy. You can defy the Lord all you like, but He never forgets. I’ll stamp it out of you before you can become an even worse sinner than you are now. Get out of my sight.” She hissed in my face. I didn’t need to be told twice. Clutching my stinging cheek, I raced up the two flights of stairs to my room, flung myself on my bed and finally let the dam break, and allowed myself to cry.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Managing the fallout from the previous chapter.<br/>I'm astounded by the fact that, like, actual people are reading this. What!!? Thank you to everyone. You make a lil girl very happy :D</p><p>Stay safe. Enjoy</p><p>Song for this chapter: Dreams by Fleetwood Mac</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I don’t know what time it was. I had sobbed for hours, til the light had dwindled and finally sunk down. It was dark now, and my sinuses felt like they had burnt up. I was hot, and sticky, and hungry, but I didn’t dare leave my room. I wasn’t crying because I’d been slapped – it had happened before, and in a sad way I was used to it. I was crying because it was true. I liked girls. There was nothing I could do about it. I had tried – God, I’d tried so hard to be normal. I gushed about boys with the girls in the village and caught myself whenever I stared at a girl for too long and forced myself to only imagine a future with a man. But no matter how hard I tried to hide it, no matter how forcefully I pushed it down, no matter how much I punished myself, I knew it would never change. </p><p>I was just about to succumb to a fresh wave of despairing tears when a soft knock at the door jolted me conscious.  </p><p>“Hello?” My voice was croaky, and sore.</p><p>“It’s me,” came the reply. I let out a sigh of relief. Katya.</p><p>Sliding off the bed and padding towards the door, I let her in with a smile.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” I questioned quietly; aware the rest of the house was silent. She held up a bulging bag.</p><p>“Care package,” she smiled. Settling herself down on the bed, she took out the items one by one and spread them out on my flowery duvet.</p><p>“Okay, first up, we have some treats from the lovely baker’s in the village. You haven’t eaten all day, and what better food to have at midnight? I also have some lux-e-ry hot chocolate, expertly brewed by yours truly,” she said, brandishing a flask and a paper bag. I was too astounded and touched to speak, but I think she understood my silence, not misinterpreting it for rudeness. </p><p>“Then we have a candle here. When I was in Thailand, there are so many damn mosquitoes you always have to have some sort of flame going, and I just got used to having candles around. This is my favourite, patchouli and jasmine, it smells like actual heaven,” she said, placing the candle on my bedside table.</p><p>“Okay, a couple more things. One of my favourite albums of all time, ‘Rumours’ by Fleetwood Mac. Incredible. I brought you a book, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ by Oscar Wilde. I read it, like, seven hundred times when I was in high school. You’re gonna love it. Oh, I brought my tarot cards. Feel free to say no, but I’d love to see what the cards have in store for you.” She spread all of these out in front of me for my inspection, then gripped my hands and looked intensely into my eyes.</p><p>“Finally. Tracy. Trixie. I just wanted to say I understand. The real reason why I was in the office that day, the day I got posted here? I was having an affair with one of the secretaries. Judy. You get what I’m trying to say? I don’t entirely know what your situation is, but if you are a lesbian, just know you’re not alone. I’m here to support you, whatever happens.”</p><p>I was speechless. It was the most perfect thing she could have said. I’d never experience this level of kindness before – I’d always had to mop myself up after my mother had gone in on me. I didn’t have the words, but I looked in her eyes and hoped she’d understand what I was trying to say. </p><p>After a few minutes of meaningful silence, we both understood. We put on the record, lit the candle, toasted each other with iron mugs of hot chocolate, ate Belgian buns and shortbread straight from the paper bag, then got into bed and held each other all night long while Stevie Nicks softly crooned in the background.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have something else to say. JBC has been bullied off Twitter. Queens of colour are being called racial slurs and harassed every day. I find this unacceptable. The Drag Race fandom should be a place where everyone is welcome, regardless of if you're black or brown or trans or not able-bodied, and right now it's toxic and full of hate.<br/>So spread some love.<br/>Leave affirming comments on the instagram posts of QOC. stand up to racists and challenge them. If you find yourself about to say something negative, stop yourself and say something positive.<br/>And be kind to yourself! If anyone needs to talk, my instagram is @l.i.s.s.y.061<br/>I love you, stay strong.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Dress You Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Honey, three chapters in one day?! I'm preparing to go to uni and am procrastinating clearing out all my clothes bwhaha! I hope you enjoy this short, slightly more optimistic chapter<br/>Maybe I'll even get to four chapters in one day... oooooooh......</p><p>Song for this chapter: Dress You Up by Madonna</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I didn’t get to see her properly for nearly a week after that. We both silently agreed to keep our heads down and get on with whatever made my mother happy. I could see it pained Katya and her rebellious nature, but she did it for my sake, and I appreciated that. She fiddled about in the garden and by some miracle managed to get the roses to bloom. I stayed inside and did the endless ‘ladylike’ tasks provided to me – sewing scatter cushions, darning clothes, arranging flowers, taking my brother and sister for walks, going to church. Our eyes met when passing in the hall or when I’d collect flowers from the greenhouse, and she’d always slip me a cheeky smile. Every fibre of my being screamed out to reciprocate, grin back and crack endless jokes, but my mother’s fury had shaken me to my core. </p><p>“I’m sorry!” I felt like crying every time she smiled at me and I lowered my eyes to the floor and didn’t smile back. “Don’t think I hate you! I can’t risk you leaving me!”</p><p>Every evening I listened to ‘Rumours’ on a loop for hours, shivering at Stevie Nicks’ haunting vocals and remembering how Katya had wordlessly held me. I always developed a lump in my throat whenever ‘You Make Loving Fun’ came on. Because, she did. She made loving FUN! Being alive wasn’t a chore when I was around Katya, it wasn’t a task to complete to make someone else happy. It was joyful and cheerful and… fun! </p><p>I also thumbed my way through her copy of ‘Dorian Gray’. I’d never been a huge reader but I found myself captivated in the story, in Wilde’s ability to write a sentence that just made me scream “YES! That’s it! You’ve captured the essence of being human into a sentence!” </p><p>Katya had written in the margins of the book, tiny notes that made me giggle when I was reading alone, in my room at three in the morning with her patchouli candle flickering next to me. When Dorian first sees his portrait and flings himself onto a divan, crying about his impending ugliness, she’d scribbled ‘what a drama queen!’ with a doodle of a tiny crown. When Lord Henry tells Dorian he’ll one day age out of his good looks she’d written ‘delete it, old!”, which made me cackle for hours. </p><p>I finished the book on Thursday night, nearly two weeks after first meeting Katya. It seemed so bewildering to me that the whole bedrock of my life had changed in the course of ten days. I was physically more confined than ever, but mentally I had taken flight. I now knew in my bones that I was going to transcend this town, one day. I told myself every day, like a child reciting their times tables. I was getting out of here. </p><p>When I finished the book, the bittersweet melancholy ending, I closed it and looked at the picture of Oscar Wilde on the back – and burst into tears. I loved this crazy man, a man born in the wrong time but doing his best with it. A man who’d invented a whole new goddamn artistic movement that was all destroyed by something so inconsequential as who he loved. I identified so much with feeling trapped, a bird in a cage beating their wings desperately to break free but only hurting themselves in the process. The only difference between us was – I had a way out. </p><p>A sudden burst of reckless courage gripped me. I grabbed a pen and my notepad, scribbled out a note without stopping to check if it was legible, and tore downstairs as quietly as I could. I guessed it was about midnight, and skulked through the house like a thief. When I reached Katya’s room, I slid the piece of paper underneath, leaned my head against the door for a yearning, fleeting second of desperation, then became self-conscious again and tiptoed back up to my room. </p><p>The note said “Honey, Oscar Wilde, honey? Honey, I’d like to get Oscar WILD with you! xxx, Trixie”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I made a playlist for this fic! </p><p>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Rk4t3xRRbUqlnx5BGgHUd?si=s5tR_ANSRqSJ6GsPKyKAMA</p><p>if you're interested ;)</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Night Fever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kind of a hefty one here! I'm currently obsessed with the underground gay scene of the 70s and 80s, and you can probably tell with this chapter! I had so much fun writing it, I hope you have fun reading it.<br/>I know it's kind of a slow burn with them getting together, but there should be some lesbian couplings coming soon... hehehe...</p><p>Song for this chapter - Night Fever by the Bee Gees</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The whole next day I stayed in my room, writing songs. Oscar Wilde wrote essays make his grim fate easier to bare; my distractions came in the form of finger picking and singing til my voice was hoarse. I managed about three songs that day, my creativity fuelled with burning passion. I kept half an eye on the door, secretly wishing Katya would come up and see me, but by nightfall I had resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to. Setting down my guitar with a sigh, I started pulling on my nightdress, half-asleep, until a knock at the door snapped me awake.</p><p>For a second I was convinced it was my mother, come to take me away to some grim church institution, but my panic subsided when Katya’s head poked round the door.</p><p>“You got a second, Blondie?” she whispered in the darkness.</p><p>“Katya!” I laughed shakily with relief. “I thought- never mind. You’re here!”</p><p>She grinned “I’m here. But I won’t be here much longer. And, if you’re agreeable, neither will you be?” My heart fluttered in my chest.  </p><p>“I’m taking you to a discotheque! It’s up in London, I went to it, like, every night when I was living there. And Friday night drinks are half-price! Whaddya say?”</p><p>Blinking back grateful tears, I dragged her into my room and thrust my arms around her in a ferocious hug. “Thank you,” I whispered, barely audible, into her hair. I think she understood because she nodded gently and squeezed my hand before pulling away, then flitted round my wardrobe looking for clothes.</p><p>“Darling, you MUST have something to wear! I mean, we can’t all be as gorgeous and sexy as me, but I’m sure with a little scrubbing up you’ll come up well!” she quipped playfully, examining my clothes. I looked at her outfit – it was pretty damn spectacular. She wore a dark blue slip dress with a lacy black cover on top, patterned all over with moons and stars, constellations and suns spilling out over her body. She shimmered when she walked, it was breath-taking to even look at her. I was too busy being awestruck by her outfit to notice the one she’d pulled out of my closet.</p><p>“What is THIS?” she gasped, admiring it. It was an outfit I’d made ages ago and forgotten all about, modelled off some disco dancers in Vogue. A sheaf of electric pink velvet studded with rhinestones and trouser legs flaring out into bell bottoms. I was pretty proud of sewing it, and now glad I had an occasion to actually wear it. After fluffing up my hair a little, sliding a pair of pink sunglasses into a clutch and tying the matching headband on, Katya was getting adorably impatient. </p><p>“C’mon, hurry up! I can’t wait to see your face when you first go in, you whore,” she said, tugging at my hand petulantly.</p><p>I couldn’t help giggling, whirled up in childish giddiness, but sobered up almost immediately when passing the hall. God forbid what would happen if my mother woke up now. She would… well, no use dwelling on such bad thoughts. I cleared my head as we soundlessly stepped out of the house, and chased each other all the way up the long gravel driveway.</p><p>We caught the 21:14 train to London, Katya breezily paying for my ticket.<br/>
“You’ll pay me back in more than money,” she shrugged when I tried to protest. When we got on the train I was glued to the window, my nose pressed against the glass, making a cloud of steam whenever I breathed. I was mesmerised by the way the town, so drab and grey in daylight, lit up like a thousand twinkling fireflies in the night. We swept past the lights so quickly they were almost a blur. I didn’t dare miss anything so stopped myself from blinking for as long as possible, only giving in when my eyes stung and watered, forcing me to blink hard as Katya chuckled fondly at me.</p><p>Getting off the train at King’s Cross was slightly terrifying as everyone seemed extremely important, and seemed to have a very important destination that they had to rush off to very quickly. I was bewildered, but luckily Katya stayed calm, threading my fingers through hers and weaving through the crowd effortlessly. I could see her bursting with excitement, her mouth constantly twitching with the effort of holding back a grin, her eyes sparkling like sunshine streaming through leaves on a blue-skied day. I’d never seen her so alive, and I was drunk on her ecstasy.</p><p>“Well, here she is. Club Regatta.” Katya announced the name with reverence, brandishing a hand towards the building. It seemed very unassuming from the outside, just a little grubby place next to a post office, but Katya had told me on the journey they had to keep it low-key on the outside to stop it getting raided. Despite its inconspicuous exterior, I could hear the thump of disco coming from within that pulled me like a magnet through the doors. </p><p>All the vocabulary I’d acquired in my nineteen measly years couldn’t describe how incredible the sight was when I first entered the club. Boys in fluffy pink tutus jostled for space next to tall hairy men in leather and chains at the bar. On a stage, three women (or were they women…?) in electrically coloured fur coats and make up so heavy it probably weighed 30 pounds flung themselves around the stage, to the delight of the small crowd beneath them. But the main thing that caught my eye was the throng of people on the middle of the room – dancing. Joyfully, fearlessly, no wasting time being self-conscious. The music was blasting so loud I could barely hear the talk of the people beside me. The lights whirled past in an endless flash of rainbow colours, illuminating every dark corner and lighting up every part of my brain. The only word I could think of to describe – even though I’d only ever heard it used negatively – was beautifully, unapologetically QUEER. I turned to Katya with a huge grin on my face, and before I realised what had happened she’d snapped a photo of me on a portable camera she had in her bag.</p><p>“When I get that developed, you’re getting a copy,” she promised. “Now, c’mon. There’s someone I want you to meet!”</p><p>We crossed the dance floor and went up to the bar, so Katya could lean right over and whisper something in the leather-clad barman’s ear. As she was occupied, I stared out into the dance floor, watching everyone dance around to a Bee Gees track. The sight of two women kissing caught my eye and I whipped round, blushing, just as Katya’s friend appeared from behind the bar.</p><p>“Sasha! My love, how long has it been? Как поживаешь?” Katya dipped round to kiss the person warmly on both cheeks, as I smiled shyly and looked at Sasha up and down. They looked like a work of art.</p><p>“все как обычно дорогой,” replied Sasha with dry amusement. Their eyebrows were hugely exaggerated, drawn on like a children’s cartoon, and a small felt crown rested on their bald head. But I was entranced by their outfit: a ruffled, sequinned Elizabethan gown complete with a ruff and hooped skirt. I don’t think I’d ever seen something quite so spectacular, and I’m sure my wonder shone through on my face.</p><p>“Who’s your friend, Katinka?” Sasha asked, gesturing to the barman to bring them a drink. Katya took my hand.</p><p>“This is Trixie! It’s her first time on the scene, darling. I’m showing her all the sights. Trixie, this is Sasha. I’ve known them for… well, ever!” </p><p>Sasha took my hand and kissed it gently – I found the beautiful juxtaposition of the old-fashioned gesture and the modernity of the club hilarious. I didn’t want to be rude, but wanted to ask Sasha a question so I knew how to refer to them.</p><p>“It’s so nice to meet you, Sasha. Hey, can I ask – are you a man or a woman? Just so I know how to refer to you and everything…” I felt my cheeks burning from my awkward social skills, but Sasha didn’t seem too bothered.</p><p>“I’m not either, моя любовь. That’s not a problem, is it?” They posed the question lightly, but I could hear a slight pointedness underneath. I smiled and shook my head. </p><p>“Nope! Not at all!” I said cheerfully, addressing the subtext to their question, and Sasha laughed back. </p><p>“Wonderful! Now, you’ll have a drink?” They said, spreading their hand towards the bar. Katya shook her head good-naturedly and asked for a lemonade, but I was so curious to try I ordered a Blushing Russian cocktail, tempted purely by the name. When it arrived, pink and fruity, I sipped at the straw coyly. The alcohol in it seemed to leap out of it and punch me round the face. My face crinkled a little at the unexpected taste, but I felt bolder. Perhaps it was a placebo effect, but I could feel my inhibitions ebbing away. I didn’t feel scared any more. </p><p>Two hours in, and without competition, it was the best night of my entire life. I’d taken my place at the dance floor, surprising Katya with how hopelessly unfunky I could be jiving to a KC and the Sunshine Band. I’d stood beneath the stage and flung tips at performers, screaming along with the crowd. But most of all, I’d talked: chatting with whoever would listen to me, about music and fashion and telly and goat-keeping. I’d stopped at two cocktails, feeling pleasantly buzzed but not wanting to forget a single second of the night. I was astounded by the diversity of the place – I’d never really interacted with any who wasn’t white before, from both my secluded upbringing and my mother’s less than progressive attitude. But here I was surrounded by people of every colour and ethnicity; in a community that welcomed everyone. It seemed to me, from all my naïve nineteen years, that this was a slice of heaven.</p><p>Every so often Katya would whirl past me, chainsmoking, and drag me off for a dance. I think it was mostly to check I was alright and not sitting mutely in a corner, but she pretended it was just to ‘cringe at my hopeless dancing’. Speaking of dancing, Katya was – incredible. Every time she took to the dance floor, she owned it, moving her body so compellingly and fearlessly your eye was automatically drawn to her. She flipped, she did the splits, all while mouthing along to whichever Donna Summer song was playing at the time.<br/>
“She used to perform here,” Sasha explained, on seeing my astounded face. “Before she moved away. She used to draw in huge crowds and go home with whoever tipped the most. Crazy girl – I missed her so much.”</p><p>At three in the morning, my feet ached, my throat stung from talking too much, and my eyes itched with tiredness. Promising myself I would come back here, I tugged at Katya’s hand until she left the dance floor and we tripped back to the train station, laughing manically with joy that couldn’t be held back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Trixie's first interaction with Sasha is a little awkward, I'm aware. I wanted to write it as it would have been - Trixie would never had interacted with another queer person before, and being non-binary was nowhere near as known about as it is today. </p><p>The name of the club is from a brand of walking boots, I was trying for ages to come up with a name, I saw the name of box on my table and it just sounded right, bwhahaha</p><p>Katya's dress is from 'Dental Artistry', cos I feel like we don't talk about that dress enough, and Trixie's outfit is the one she made in All Stars 3 in the Warhol Ball. Sasha's outfit is a bit like the one they wore in the Season 9 finale, cos it was so spectacular.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Venus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my longest chapter yet! Apologies if ya like em short and sweet, I just felt like this one works better as one full chapter. Let's get funky, boys</p><p> </p><p>Song for this chapter: Venus by Bananarama</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the next two months or so, we settled into a very comfortable routine: we’d meet at five in the morning in the field where she first told me about her life, drink tea and chat cheerful balls about nothing in particular. During the day she’d tend to the garden and I’d get on with my duties. Then, once a week, at about 8 or 9, I’d feed some story to my mother about meeting the girls from the village, and we’d sneak off to the train station to escape to London, and the Regatta. We’d come home at 4 in the morning, then fondly part ways until the next day.</p><p>I was the happiest I’d ever been. I felt I was living two lives: one of the dutiful daughter, living to please my mother. The other was the one I truly lived for: exploring, learning, feeling truly ALIVE. </p><p>I grew bolder around Katya and the way I talked to her. I started to feel less like an inadequate child, and more like an equal. We cracked jokes, we held hands, we danced together for hours to the thumping beat of endless disco songs. One day, I shyly played her a couple of my songs. At first she sat politely on my bed, head cocked with rapt attention, but after a while she lay back and lost herself in the music, requesting me to play them again and again until she could hum along, and soon they became our own secret language. She begged me to write a song about her, but I gently refused every time. I didn’t trust myself yet to write a song that was worthy of her, and would encapsulate what she meant to me. But I knew one day I would. </p><p>Although things were so much better in my second life, my first life could often go disastrously wrong. Sometimes my mother would have bad days and rant and scream at me. They were less frequent, as I kept up the ‘good Christian girl’ façade, but sometimes any little thing could set her off, and I’d get a slapping on top of a bellowed lecture. On those days, when panic unfurled its ugly fingers inside my chest and I couldn’t breathe, Katya would shoot me glances that let me know she had my back. Than, late at night, while I lay awake sobbing, she would creep upstairs, bring me a new record and hold me tight while it spun softly. </p><p>My escape always came in the form of Regatta. I truly became alive in that club. I became fascinated with the performers on stage, a variety show of queer talent: glamorous drag queens mouthing along to ballads, powerful women in fur coats with cigarettes dangling from the corners of their mouths singing songs that stirred tears in my throat, once even a skinny man in a red velvet coat doing a short magic act that brought the house down with hecklers and cheers. Sasha told me they were always on the lookout for fresh talent, their patrons loved to see acts new and exciting. </p><p>“We’re not just a discotheque,” they had told me one night, when a drag queen had taken to the stage for a small stand up set. “If these people wanted an ordinary discotheque, they’d go down the street and mingle with the breeders. We’re a place where queers can get together and be themselves for a few hours. Straights have endless theatres, bars, music venues – we’re all of those rolled into one. And a lot more fabulous!”</p><p>This set me thinking of a plan: a plan that made my hands shake and my stomach flutter with excitement. After two and a half months of coming down to Regatta every week, I talked to Sasha and watched their eyes gleam behind their heavy make-up. It was arranged that, the following week, I would have a five-minute slot on the stage to perform. </p><p>“Oh, and Sasha?”</p><p>“Yes, darling?”</p><p>“Don’t tell Katya, yet.”<br/>
~~~<br/>
I constructed my costume sitting cross legged on my bedroom, blasting David Bowie and Supertramp. A tiny rebellion, fuelled by crazy rock ‘n rollers. For once I didn’t care if anyone heard the music. I worked until my back ached, my eyes itched and my fingers prickled with a thousand tiny needle stabs, and I had a beautiful sparkling costume that made me grin with ecstasy every time I looked at it. Slipping it on, I padded over to the mirror and admired myself.<br/>
A short magenta dress, tapering off mid-way down my thighs, with puffy sleeves that drifted through the air when I moved my arms. I had stitched thousands of sequins all over it, in flowers that bloomed and glittered whenever I moved. I imagined the sequins catching the disco lights, and a shiver of delight raced down my spine. I took it off quickly, and packed it carefully into a rucksack, along with my shoes and the cassette of the song I wanted. </p><p>Katya exploded into my room, wearing a shockingly red outfit patterned with a shimmering hammer and sickle. I laughed a little at her red panting face.</p><p>“How are you already sweating? There’s, like, two flights of stairs between our rooms,” I chucked. She ineffectually attempted to swipe her cuff over her face to mop it up.</p><p>“What can I say, I didn’t get the award for ‘Sweatiest Woman in the Western Hemisphere’ for no reason. It’s truly a skill to be as sweaty as me.”</p><p>“One day you’re gonna be on the dance floor and everyone around you will slip on your trail and break their necks and die,” I said, dabbing at her face with a tissue. She grinned.</p><p>“Mmm, yummy. More teeth for me,” she murmured, and I burst out laughing before I could help myself. Slapping my hands over my mouth to contain my scream-laugh, I pricked up my ears to sense if anyone heard, but the house was reassuringly silent. </p><p>“Ugh, that was close,” I said, picking up my rucksack and heading out. </p><p> </p><p>I couldn’t sit still on the train ride there. A combination of nerves and excitement kept my leg jiggling constantly, and my nails tapping at the glass of the window. Katya paused rolling up her cigarettes to rest her hand on my quivering knee.</p><p>“Did you just take a tab of acid? What’s up with you?”</p><p>“Nothing!” I said brightly. “Just can’t wait to get there.” I forced myself to not tell her about my performance – it was a lot of effort, but I kept picturing what her face would look like when I first appeared on stage, and that kept my mouth shut. </p><p>“You want a fag? They taste like absolute shit but they give your hands something to do,” she proffered me a skinny roll up and I took it, lighting it with her zippo in a performance of regality and refinement, making her chuckle. She was right, it tasted of the worst brown ever. I coughed and spluttered, ruining my polished façade, but it gave me something to focus on for the rest of the journey. </p><p>When we arrived at the club, I left Katya doing her thing on the dance floor while Sasha led me backstage to the makeshift dressing room to get ready.</p><p>“When you’re ready, just give me a nod. I’ll introduce you, and then you’re on!” they said, patting me on the arm and leaving me to it. </p><p>Shimmying into my dress, I immediately felt more confident, as if the bright sequins were battle armour. Letting out a short, sharp exhale, I brushed out my hair and touched up my make-up. I didn’t want the lights to wash me out, considering the amount of time I spent curating the perfect winged arch of eyeliner. Finally, I reached into my bag and brought out my third most precious possession after my guitar and my record player – my tap shoes. I’d had tap lessons as a kid and still practised, loving the way I felt swooping around my room, the brassy tap noises blocking out the negative thoughts squirming in my brain. Now was the perfect time to show off the skills I’d accumulated. </p><p>Stepping to the side of the stage, careful not to make too much noise in my shoes, I gave a small thumbs up to Sasha and they nodded. </p><p>“Right, ladies and ladies. We have a right surprise for you today, лохи! Everyone’s favourite lifesize Barbie Doll, our very own… Trixie Mattel!”</p><p>A whoosh of applause followed Sasha’s words from the people who knew me well from the months I’d been a regular here. Clattering onstage, waving my arm off like the goddamn queen, I smiled widely and squinting in the blinding heat of the gas lights. Katya’s jaw had practically dropped off her face. </p><p>“Hi,” I began, trying to lessen the dryness in my mouth, “I’m your younger sister who turned out to be a huge yellow cyst, Trixie Mattel.”</p><p>The audience started to laugh at that. Actual humans, actually laughing at my dumb joke! To hide how pleased I was about that, I nodded at Sasha who slotted in my cassette to the stereo and I got in position to start my number. Hand on hip, one leg slightly bent, mouth titled in a crooked smile. Come on Tracy, show ‘em how it’s done. </p><p>I’d chosen a Singin’ in the Rain number, something bright and camp and cheesy that allowed me to make it look like I was as talented as Gene Kelly while actually having a very limited repertoire of steps. I was really hamming it up, mouthing along to the words perfectly, exaggerating my facial features. I’d loved the movie when I was younger, it seemed right that it should be my first ever performance number. </p><p>I made it through most of the song just concentrating on staying on beat and making sure I didn’t fling my legs around too much, completely forgetting I had an audience in front of me. It wasn’t until I’d almost slipped on a five pound note that I that I slowly became aware of their reaction. Part of me wishes to stay modest and coy here, and claim that I was a misunderstood, unappreciated artist but mama, that would be a blatant lie. They were lapping that shit up – cheering, flinging tips at me, chanting my name. I felt a disbelieving giggle bubble up in my throat but forced it back down in the name of professionalism. When it was over and I was standing in my final pose, a huge roar whipped up from the crowd and I couldn’t keep it up any longer. I laughed hysterically, snatching up tips and shoving them down my dress like there was no tomorrow. </p><p>“Thank you, thanks so much everyone! Remember – if you liked my performance, my name is Trixie Mattel, and if you hated it, it’s Katya Zamolodchikova.” I quipped. Big laugh for that one. Most folks knew Katya and I were very close, and we’d become the subject for most of the good-natured jokes tossed around in the last month or so. As I tripped offstage, drunk on adrenaline, Sasha caught me.</p><p>“Trixie. I’m giving you a permanent slot onstage every Friday night. That was incredible, girl,” they said. I boggled.</p><p>“Really?! Do I… do I have to tap dance every week or can I do different things?” I asked, my mouth suddenly dry again. Sasha laughed.</p><p>“Girl, you can do anything you want. Eat fire, dance around, sit down and do a fuckin’ crossword for all I care, if you can turn the crowd like that again.” I laughed again in delight, then rushed backstage to take my shoes off. I didn’t bother to change, I just ran all the way round to the main room again – and into Katya’s waiting arms. </p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered into my hair, crispy with spray. She didn’t sound mad.</p><p>“I wanted to see your face,” I said, peeling back and looking into her eyes, grinning cheekily. She spluttered with laughter.</p><p>“Come on. There’s about a dozen people here who want to buy you a drink – though I’m pretty sure most of them think you’re a man in drag. Hey, you’re gay famous now, mama! Every queer in London will know your name! You’re gonna be a star,” she joked, looking into the imaginary distance and wiping her hand in front of her face, like Billy Flynn in Chicago. </p><p>I laughed, and gave myself up to the buzzing crowd.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Trixie's dress is kinda like the one she won AS3 in, but without the yellow gown and with sequins on. I'm sure we've all seen the video of her tap dancing, which is where I got the inspiration for this one, but just in case you haven't here it is:</p><p>https://youtu.be/OFLaoZ6l0So</p><p>I'm also in love with this photo of Trixie and Sasha, which is what I'm picturing in my head when I write the two of them:</p><p>https://www.instagram.com/p/CEP6EE9pbLM/</p><p>Love y'all and thanks for reading! Leave me a comment to make me smile! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Dark Art</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have a feeling you'll be happy with this one. It made me very happy writing it. And also lonely. God I'm so touch starved, will any girl out there date me pls?</p><p>Anyway. Here it is. Enjoy.</p><p> </p><p>Two songs for this chapter: Dark Art by Jen Cloher and Heiraten by Liza Minnelli</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>We made it back to the house in the magical half an hour or so when it’s still night, but dawn is just about to burst through, teetering on the edge of night and day. Katya started to walk down the long drive, but something in me wasn’t ready to head back to normality yet. </p><p>“Wait,” I said gently, my breath misting in the chilly air. “I don’t wanna go in, yet. Can we go to our field?”</p><p>She turned to me with a soft smile, nodding wordlessly, and linked our frozen fingers together. </p><p>“Lead the way, sweetie,” she said softly, barely more than a whisper.</p><p>When we got to our field, dawn was breaking. The sky was streaked with a patchwork of pink, orange and red, set to a background of lilac. I had no words to describe it. It was, quite simply, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I felt Katya shift slightly beside me and tuck her head onto my shoulder. Glancing down at her, I saw her face was illuminated in the light of the sunrise, making her hair shine and her eyes literally glow. Her crimson lips were open slightly as she breathed deeply, exhales crystallising into mist in front of us. </p><p>“There’s a poem I love, by Philip Larkin,” I said. </p><p>“That glare of that much-mentioned brilliance, love,<br/>
Broke out, to show<br/>
Its bright incipience sailing above,<br/>
Still promising to solve, and satisfy,<br/>
And set unchanging in order- “ </p><p>“I’m in love with you.” she interrupted from beside me. I turned to look at her. She was still staring ahead at the sunset, head tucked into the crook of my shoulder.</p><p>“Katya,” I said.</p><p>“I’m in love with you. I’m in love with the way you’re so shy when you make jokes, as if you’re scared no one will laugh. I’m in love with they way you scream like some fucking terrifying bird when you laugh. I’m in love with the way you write songs, and the way you slip notes with god-awful puns under my door at midnight, and the way your eyes light up when you see something beautiful. I love when you rant to me about Dolly Parton, or this month’s fashion, or some TV show I’ve never heard of. And how you constantly interrupt me when I’m talking. And how you’re so endlessly fucking cheerful with every single thing that life has thrown your way, and I love walking with you and sneaking around with you and holding your hand.”</p><p>“Katya,” I said again.</p><p>“I love you, and I’m willing to risk everything for that.” She finally turned her head to look at me, staring me right in the eyes. She waited for a reply from me. For someone who never shut the fuck up, for once I had no words. So I did the only thing I could think of doing. </p><p>I kissed her. </p><p>~~~</p><p>Panting, tripping feet, clumsy hands gripping at each other. We raced up to my room faster than I’d ever ran before, then slammed the door shut, giggling breathlessly. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so just stared into her eyes. They had turned almost silver. Suddenly something turned inside me and I felt awkward and embarrassed. I searched for the first thing in my mind to fill the silence. </p><p>“Did you know,” I murmured. “That in 1969, the US Government switched off Niagara Falls, to clean it? They just switched the whole thing off. I heard that on the radio once,”</p><p>“Oh my God, fuck me,” Katya muttered, grabbing my face into hers and pulling me in for a kiss. I melted into it, feeling my momentary reservations slip away. A kiss, I thought, wasn’t really an action decided upon. It was more like a feeling that floated from somewhere – maybe through the window – and took over both parties. You may not know a kiss is about to happen, but once it has, you realise it was pre-destined the entire time. And there’s very little you can do to stop it. </p><p>Katya and I kissed the same way that we talked. She would take a trapeze-leap into faith, knowing that it could go either way, and I would catch her effortlessly out of the sky. We knew each other, we trusted each other. This was the best damn kiss I’d ever had. It maybe helped that it was the first kiss I’d ever had, but that somehow felt beside the point. </p><p>She pulled back, panting a little and grinning. She kept hold of my hand. </p><p>“Play me a song,” she said throatily, stoking my hair. I wordlessly grabbed my guitar, mentally searching for something to play. My catalogue of the women I admired – Dolly, Stevie – didn’t seem quite right here. The only woman I wanted to admire right now was Katya. So I started plucking out the music for a song I had written, one of the few Katya hadn’t heard yet. It was a little rough around the edges but I was pretty proud of it. In an emotional voice that croaked and cracked a little, I began:</p><p>“Judy never asked her for forever…”</p><p>Katya lay back on my bed, her silvery-blonde hair messily spread around her head, her hands splayed out, eyes closed, crimson lipstick smeared a little. She looked ethereal. She was so beautiful it almost pained me to look at her, but I was incapable of looking away. It was all I could do to stop my voice catching in my throat and choking me. When I reached the end of the song I put my guitar down again and watched her: half wanting to drink in her form and gaze at her forever, half gaging her reaction to the song. She stayed silent for a few moments, then reached out her hand and pulled me down to lie next to her.</p><p>“You’re a dumb bitch,” she said, gently pressing her lips to my cheeks, my nose, my forehead, “and I love you.” And then she climbed on top of me, and the rest of the world took a break from existing for a while.  </p><p>~~~</p><p>We sat next to each other hours later, hands clasped. Katya was crisply blowing her cigarette smoke into the open window. I was naked, constantly waiting to start to feel shy around her and coyly wrap a sheet around myself, but that feeling never came. It felt a little futile to be shy of my body around someone who, half an hour ago, had their face stuck between my legs. I internally giggled, then gasped out loud as I realised something. Katya looked at me, raising one perfect eyebrow.</p><p>“What is it? You wanna go again? Because kudos to you if you do, I think I’m incapable of moving for the next twelve years.”</p><p>“No, it’s not that. I just realised: this is the happiest I’ve ever been.” I stated it simply, like it was an obvious fact to me. Because it was: the morning sun streaming through the window, Katya’s fingers intertwined through mine, the pure feeling of peace and satisfaction. All negative thoughts slunk out of my brain. I wasn’t worried about anything. This was the happiest I’d ever been. </p><p>~~~</p><p>There was a moment at the very beginning, before anything had really happened. Katya had taken off my shirt and was kissing me up and down, all over my shoulders and chest. I think I was nearly incapable of speech at that point. </p><p>"What do you like?" she had asked me, putting her hands up to stroke my face.</p><p>"I don't know yet," I said. "But: you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>teehee</p><p> </p><p>the poem trixie recites is an excerpt from ‘Love Songs in Age’ by Philip Larkin. It just seemed to fit here</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Easy Does It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know, I know, it's been a whole week! I'm sorreeeeeeee</p><p>It's been kinda hectic, I started a new medication and I'm moving soon so I'm all busyyyyy<br/>Plus I had a little bit of writer's block with this one, but I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out.<br/>The next few chapters will be quite short but I'll be updating them more regularly </p><p>Song for this chapter: Easy Does It by Supertramp</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next few weeks were pure agony. To around the woman I loved, and hear her say wacky and stupid and brilliant things and not being able to fling my arms around her and kiss her till we were both cackling with laughter? To bump into her in the corridor and have to tear my eyes away from her face, to not be able to view the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth? To stand in my bedroom, press my face against the window, gaze at her pruning roses with the sunlight streaming through her messy hair, while pretending she was a stranger and I didn’t know every tiny inconsequential fact about her – how she smelled, how she slept, how she laughed? It was the worst pain I’d ever been in. </p><p>There were moments, of course, moments of bliss. They would occur at one, two, three in the morning, both of us lying in my bed with our legs tangled up and the sheet messily wrapped round us. She’d have her eyes closed, lightly running her long fingers up and down my arm and tunelessly humming along to whichever song was on the record player. I’d be gazing at her face, taking in every tiny detail, tracing her lips delicately. Sometimes she’d gently bite my fingers and I’d squeal, then lean down to kiss her. In moments like these, all the stress evaporated from my mind. </p><p>But then the sun would rise, and the birds would start singing, and she’d have to leave, and the whole miserable cycle would start again. </p><p>Our life at Regatta had evolved as well. I did another couple of nights as a solo act – telling jokes, singing songs, playing my guitar – all while Katya watched me from the side of the makeshift stage, her eyes gleaming. Once, on the train back, she shyly confided to me that she was dying to get back on the stage, and I of course let her. We were a massive hit. We’d do whatever we fancied – lip synching ferociously to ABBA songs, doing short stand-up skits. </p><p>One night, I was playing a Cyndi Lauper song on my guitar while Katya performed a sort of interpretive dance with a ribbon behind me. Leaping about, twirling, taking herself very seriously. I could scarcely sing for laughing. When I’d finished, we both went to the front of the stage to bow, and to squeeze out any last-minute tips. The crowd was much bigger now, we were drawing people in from Manchester, Bristol, Oxford – I once even talked to someone from Cardiff who told me they came just to see me and Katya perform.<br/>
Breathless and sweaty, Katya joined me at the front of the stage. </p><p>“Thank you so much for watching us, guys! Enjoy the rest of your evening, there are some terrific acts coming up later! Make sure to tip the barman: he’s so cute, that’s the only way he’ll ever pay attention to you!” I joked. The boys in the audience giggled outrageously and the leather-bound barman obligingly raised his studded hat. </p><p>“And hey, if there’s a song you’d like to see us perform one night, make sure you tell us and we’ll ignore you! ‘Cos it’s our show…” I said, nudging Katya subtly.</p><p>“And not yours!” she chimed in, taking the hint. That was sort of our catchphrase at the end of every set, but Katya often glazed over and forgot to say it. </p><p>There was a big cheer for that, as the patrons made their way over to the bar. Katya and I grinned at each other and slipped backstage to peel off our sweaty costumes. I’d made a few more dresses since my first, and tonight was wearing a mock Scout’s uniform, complete with a hot pink sash and badges I’d made myself. Katya was wearing a leotard with her name picked out bold Soviet-looking text that she switched for a button-up shirt, acid washed jeans and a denim jacket with a glittering hammer and sickle on the back. I slipped my hand into hers and she grinned at me before we weaved our way through the crowds and onto the dance floor, where I rested my head on her shoulder, she wrapped her arms around me, and we swayed in peaceful synchronisation while the Bee Gees crooned ‘More Than a Woman’.</p><p>The train journey back went by in a rush. My head lay in Katya’s lap, my hair spilling out across her legs, while she stared out the window and played with a few strands of my hair. It was a late enough train that we had gotten over our self-consciousness, and besides the only people on it were pissed teenagers and bleary-eyed businessmen slumbering against the windows, creating puffs of cloudiness whenever they breathed out, their heads jolting on their curled hands whenever we slowed to a stop. </p><p>We’d faced hostility on trains before, but the only resistance tonight was someone darkly muttering ‘commie’ on seeing Katya’s bold jacket and glaring at us as we left the train. My stomach knotted itself with dread and worry, but Katya stayed calm.</p><p>“I mean, I AM a communist but it doesn’t mean that they have to treat me like shit,” she proclaimed cheerily and I spluttered with laughter, simultaneously thrilled and embarrassed by her outspoken unapologetic nature. Having lived my whole life in the shadows, I was still coming to terms with shouting my beliefs instead of whispering them. It took practice to live loudly and proudly. But Katya had told me stories of people in America – Harvey Milk, and Marsha P. Johnson, who were fighting and screaming and making a noise. I spoke their names like they were prophets, and I was a devoted follower. I often got emotional thinking that all over the world, there were girls like me, girls curled up in their tiny rooms and wishing for a better life, and hundreds of miles away in a magical land called America there were people fighting for us. </p><p>We reached the top of the driveway as dawn was bursting through, just as it had on the first night we had kissed. That seemed like a world away now, though it was only a few weeks. We stumbled across the gravel together, clumsily pecking kisses on each other’s faces and giggling incessantly. The laughter died on my lips when I recognised a dark figure standing in shadows by the front door. My insides froze.</p><p>My mother.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Trixie's wearing her Scout outfit (Scoutfit?) from DragCon a couple of years ago and Katya's wearing the white leotard with her name on that I remember seeing somewhere</p><p>Obviously Cyndi Lauper hadn't written Time After Time yet, but can we pretend that she had? It worked super well. Here's the video I got the idea from if you haven't seen it:</p><p>https://youtu.be/vzjviWRtQNs</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Both Sides Now</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yikes. Kinda depressing one here. It's gonna have a happy ending, I promise! Or will it.....</p><p>CW for emotional and physical parental abuse. Also a mention of blood that's probably best to avoid if that sorta thing gets to you</p><p>Song for this chapter: Both Sides Now by Joni Mitchell</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I felt a jolt of fear run through me, like an electric shock. I scrambled away from Katya, praying to whatever God felt like listening to me in that moment that Mother hadn’t seen us, that she wasn’t suspicious, that this was all a big misunderstanding. The feeble lies I was telling myself floated away when I saw her grim expression.</p><p>“Mother” I said, trying not to sound too panicked. Katya seemed unable to move. “What are you doing up?”</p><p>“I got a call this evening,” she began, her voice dripping with poison. “From your friend Mary, who lives in the village. She wondered if you were alright, as she hadn’t seen you for months and months, and asked if you wanted to go out with her tonight.”</p><p>A lump grew in my throat. My hands shook.</p><p>“I was a little confused,” she continued. “Because you’ve been telling me for the last two months that you were meeting her every Friday night. And that you were out with her at the cinema tonight. I went to check in your room. I found these.” She produced a small envelope from her pocket, opening with fingers that made me shudder. Inside it were photographs.</p><p>All the photographs, documenting mine and Katya’s life together. Performing at the club, grinning in the train station, sightseeing in London. Kissing in our field, cuddling on my bed, a group one with Sasha and all the regulars at Regatta. Photos that Katya had carefully taken and meticulously printed out, photos that I’d tucked in an envelope and hidden in the pages of a book. I tried to remember how Mother had found them, then realised that before we’d left, I had spread them all out carelessly on my bed as I was thinking of making a scrapbook. Why hadn't I put them away? Why didn't I lock my door? Why, tonight of all nights? I wanted to cry.</p><p>“So I was simply wondering, my dear,” I shivered at how much hate she added to the last syllable, “what it is you’ve been doing for all these months. Oh, I see… it’s the gardener.” Her eyes suddenly flicked to Katya standing frozen next to me. My protective urge kicked in, and my body shifted like I was going to stand in front of her to defend her. Mother’s lip curled, and I felt my face flushing.</p><p>“I see. How… interesting.” she sneered. “You do realise, don’t you, Beatrice, that she doesn’t care about you at all. She’s just some filthy dyke who swooped in with the intention of influencing a weak-minded young girl, seduced you for an easy fuck, and is planning on running off again. You don’t think that she really…” she scoffed, and my stomach churned sickeningly, “loves you?”</p><p>“I know you like to make me into the villain in your head. I know it fits very nicely in your imagined fairy tale, to have the big bad evil mother and be rescued by some girl in shining armour. But I’m the only one who has ever looked out for you. I’m trying to protect you, Beatrice. You think the world will stop hating queers because you like to hold hands with a servant? It’s an awful life. Constantly hiding, lying to people at work, never being able to tell the truth. I just want to give you a good life, a nice husband, a house. Can you really hate me for looking after you?”</p><p>Her words bore into my head like bullets, making me dizzy. I had to admit, there had been moments – just moments, in the dark – when I had wondered about the state of the world. Yes, Katya and I were in love, but that couldn’t change the fact that people like me were killed every day. The Regatta had been raided recently – I wasn’t there the night that it was, but I saw how shaken up Sasha and the other patrons were. Some parts of me thought, just sometimes, that it would be easier to slink back into the closet and marry some boy, and go back to staring at girls in church. </p><p>I looked at Katya, and for the first time wondered if what Mother said was true. Could she be manipulating me for the sheer cruel joy of having power over some naïve kid? Katya saw me looking at her, and stared at me with horror on her face.</p><p>“You don’t think it’s true, do you, Trixie? It’s all bullshit. You know it is. Don’t listen to her!”<br/>
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I couldn’t think of anything to say, I was choking on unshed tears. I prayed that, like so many times before, Katya would understand my silence. But I saw doubt flicker onto her face and her eyes fill with tears. She had misinterpreted me.</p><p>“Trixie… don’t let her talk to you like this! You’re a grown woman!”</p><p>Suddenly a barrier broke, and tears flooded me. I tried to stutter out an apology, a reassurance, anything, but before I could talk Mother’s hand curled around my wrist so tightly I knew I would bruise.</p><p>“She doesn’t want to listen to you anymore, Miss Zamolodchikova. You’ve done quite enough, filling her head with sweet talk and lies. You’re dismissed, effective immediately. I never wish for you to have contact with my daughter ever again. I would like you off the premises within an hour, or I shall fetch a policeman.”</p><p>My heart dropped into my chest. I turned to Katya to protest, to tell her I loved her, to do anything, but as our eyes met I found only hostility. Her face, until recently so open and shining, had become closed and pinched. Her eyes slid away from mine miserably and she turned towards the house silently, closing the door with a boom that I felt reverberate in my bones. </p><p>I made to run after her but Mother suddenly gripped my shoulders from behind. </p><p>“You’re not going after her, Beatrice,” she said, so quietly and threateningly I felt a shiver trail down my spine. </p><p>“I’ve been making some phone calls. I’m sending you to an institution, a church in the countryside. They’ll sort you out, until Katya” – she spat the name with so much hatred – “is just a memory. But don’t think you’re getting out of this easily. I’m going to make you pay for lying to me.”</p><p>Before I could cry out she roughly spun me round till I faced her, then struck me so hard across the face I saw tiny dots of light burst in my vision. My head spun for a few seconds as I tried to get my bearings. I could feel my cheek start to swell up and my nose drip unpleasantly with blood, filling my mouth and eyes, choking me, blinding me. I could hardly breathe. </p><p>“Get to your room,” she hissed in disgust. “We leave in two hours. I’m locking the door until then.”</p><p>I stumbled upstairs, attempting to staunch the thick flow of blood, and saw my siblings huddled on the stairs like abandoned kittens. </p><p>“Hey, kids. It’s okay. Don’t worry about me,” I attempted to gently comfort them. “I’ve got to go away for a bit, but I’ll be back soon. Go back to bed and I’ll come and say goodbye to you.”</p><p>They fled into their shared room, scrunching up their faces in an attempt not to cry, in the way that children do. I felt guilt, hot and burning, twist in my stomach. I couldn’t leave them here. But what choice did I have?</p><p>I collapsed onto my bed, holding a handkerchief to my swollen nose, gulping for air. I heard the lock click from the outside, and the enormity of the situation suddenly hit me. I would never see Katya again. My mother was sending me to a church conversion centre, God knows what would happen to me there. I felt like crying, but had no tears left. Instead I just sat on my windowsill, watching the sky turn pink, then gold, then grey, and the first drops of rain start to hammer down.<br/>
A small huddled figure holding an old battered suitcase weaved their way across the front drive. They didn’t have a coat, and their clothes were soaked to the skin. I couldn’t see very well through the sheets of rain pouring down, but I knew it was Katya. I pounded on the glass, yelling her name. I wrenched the window open, leaned right out, and screamed to her, but she didn’t turn round. I watched her become a small black dot in the horizon, then as soon as I heard my door being unlocked I pushed past my mother and raced downstairs into Katya’s room. </p><p>The bed was stripped, the clothes were gone from the hangers. Her assorted possessions were missing from the chest of drawers. All that was left were the posters on the walls, that I guessed she didn’t have time to pack. </p><p>Katya was truly gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please leave me a comment if it takes your fancy! Sorry for the sadness here baaaaa</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. El Condor Pasa (If I Could)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>there's always darkness before dawn. This might be the start of the dawn.</p><p>Song for this chapter: El Condor Pasa (If I Could) by Simon and Garfunkel</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hours had passed, I don’t know how many. I lay on my bed, my face swollen with tears, nose so stuffed up I could barely breathe. Mother sat next to me, her voice low and gentle. </p><p>“I just want what’s best for you, Beatrice. And you don’t want to disappoint me, do you? After all I’ve done for you? I’ve raised you practically single-handedly, given you a nice house, good clothes, the best opportunities. Are you really going to pay me back by throwing your life away for some girl you hardly know?”</p><p>I swallowed thickly and sniffed hard. </p><p>“I’m sorry you’re upset. But it’ll pass. Within a year you can be married to a lovely man from church in a good house far out in the country, with not a care in your head – you never need to think about this woman ever again. Come on, sit up and give me a hug.”</p><p>I nodded dumbly, sat up and wiped my nose, and collapsed into her arms, too tired to argue, too scared to disagree. I wanted to feel something from the hug – reassurance, love, the knowledge that deep down she really did care for me – but all I felt were her bony arms encircling me. Trapping me. I pulled away quickly and she nodded. </p><p>“Come on, Beatrice. Let’s get in the car.” She started picking up things from my room and shoving them randomly into the faded suitcase I’d used when we moved from America. Clothes, records, books. I dragged myself up from my bed and followed her downstairs as she dragged my suitcase behind her carelessly. <br/>When we reached the car outside she reached up to put my suitcase in the boot, but something fell out. She didn’t seem to notice and carried on round to the driver’s door, but I bent to pick it up.</p><p>It was The Picture of Dorian Gray. The book that Katya had given me so many months ago. I stared at it, my hands shaking, my eyes brimming over with yet more tears.</p><p>That book, when she gave it to me, was a sign that there was more to life than I could possibly imagine. That it was only getting started. When she gave me that book, I had never sung in front of an audience, or drunk an alcoholic drink, or danced at a club, or kissed anyone, or loved anyone. All of these bright exciting colourful futures opened up to me by one person… and now I was letting her slip through my fingers. </p><p>I looked up at my mother. I didn’t see someone who cared for me, or loved me unconditionally for who I was. I saw a manipulative woman who found joy from bringing others down, who only used me to bring her social status points up. I saw someone who wanted to turn me into a version of them to gaze into their narcissus pond endlessly. </p><p>Flicking through the book through my haze of tears, a tiny scribbled note caught my eye. </p><p>‘Delete it, old!’</p><p>I somehow managed to sob and laugh at the same time. Mother looked up sharply at the noise. </p><p>“What is it, Beatrice? Get in the car please,” she demanded, holding the door open.</p><p>“No.” I murmured.</p><p>“What? I wish you wouldn’t mumble, it’s so rude. Get in the car, young lady. Now.”</p><p>“No.” I said louder, standing up straighter and looking her in the eye. “I’m not a toy for you to play with and manipulate at your heart’s content. You don’t really love me. You love yourself. And now I’m going to find the only person who has ever truly loved me for who I am. Goodbye, Mother.”</p><p>I walked smartly down the drive, Dorian Gray still clutched in my shaking hand, the rain dampening my hair and weighing down my clothes. But I felt lighter than ever before.</p><p>“Beatrice!” Mother screeched from behind me. “Beatrice, you walk away now, and I will never welcome you back into my house. You chose to live in sin, that’s your own fault, but Beatrice-"</p><p>I turned round and looked at the house one last time. </p><p>“My name is Trixie.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Leave me a comment to make me smile! Good things will come your way!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. I Feel Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I cannot apologise enough for this being so late!! Ack I was caught up with everything and this one took ages to write - but it's here now!! <br/>The next time I update, I'll be at uni!! Wish me luck...</p><p>Our story is winding to the end now, but this chapter is quite satisfying, I believe. Enjoy xxx</p><p>Song for this chapter: I Feel Love by Donna Summer</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once I had been walking for about half an hour, my head clouded with doubt. I had no money, no food, the only clothes I had were the sodden items of cotton I was wearing. It was pouring with rain, I had nowhere to sleep tonight and I had no idea where Katya was. She could be on a plane back to America by now, for all I knew. The full weight of the situation suddenly hit me and I sank down onto the banks of grass by the wayside, holding my head in my hands. What could I do? Where could I go?</p><p>I sat in turmoil for… I don’t know how long. Cars passed me and very considerately managed to drive right through the huge puddle in front of me at the perfect angle to completely soak me. My hair tangled down my shoulders in limp rats’ tails, my tears mingled with the rain drops. I found my mind drifting to Katya, wondering what she was doing. I thought of her mischievous smile, the way her hair snaked around her face while she danced, the way she frowned slightly while reading. I thought of the way she slept spread out like a starfish, her turning cartwheels in my garden, how she’d wordlessly held me when I needed her most. And I needed her now.</p><p>The knot in my stomach lessoned slightly. The lump in my throat felt smaller. I suddenly felt a wave of clarity, knowing what I had to do. And when I stood up, by some miracle, the rain stopped. Now, I wasn’t really one to believe in signs from the universe. But in all my years on the planet, if I was ever to receive a single sign, this bloody well felt like the one. I had no idea where Katya was – she could be far away, she could never want to see me again. But if I didn’t try, I’d never know. And I believed everything was worth a try. </p><p>I started running, sprinting faster than I ever had before. I ran all the way down the road, tingling with adrenaline and excitement, lungs burning. My legs were working faster than my brain, so when my mind caught up with me I found myself at the train station. I had no money but I ducked beneath the barrier and dashed quickly off to the usual platform.</p><p>“Oi!” I heard a man bellow behind me and I guessed the guard had seen me. I ran faster, clutching a stitch in my side, willing there to be a train on the platform so I didn’t have to wait. Luckily, a train was just beginning to chug slowly out of the station so I swung quickly in one of the doors before they slammed shut, leaning out and waving cheerfully to the security team that had been chasing me. </p><p>“Sorry!” I yelled merrily, laughing internally at their bewildered faces. “I’ve gotta go meet a girl. I’m in love, you see.”</p><p>I slumped in an empty seat by the window and watched the landscape swish rapidly past my eyes, blurring my vision. I caught sight of myself in the reflection of the glass and was surprised at how awful I looked: tangled damp hair, smudged make up, sodden clothes. For once, I didn’t care. I curled up in my seat and tried to stop myself shivering – partly from cold, partly from fear, partly from excitement. My stomach rumbled loudly and I felt my face flush self-consciously, aware that everyone in the carriage heard. I felt a nudge at my arm and realised the lady opposite me was offering me an apple. I took it gratefully, smiling, and chomped down on it, willing my teeth to stop chattering. </p><p>“You’re in love, honey? He’s a lucky one,” she said kindly. I smiled back.</p><p>“I’m the lucky one,” I replied, resting my head on my arm and trying hard to relax.</p><p>When the train arrived at London, it had started to rain again. It was spattering down the windows, creating patterns with the landscape outside that I couldn’t help but stare at, transfixed. It was so hypnotising I didn’t even realise the train had stopped until everyone around me started fiddling around for their bags. </p><p>“Good luck, darling,” the kind lady said, winking at me. “You’ll get him back, easy. He’ll fall right back into your arms.” </p><p>I stood up and stretched my limbs, aching from being cramped up for so long.</p><p>“Thanks!” I replied cheerily. “I’m sure she will,”</p><p>And by the time she had registered what I’d said, I was already halfway down the platform. </p><p> </p><p>I found a sudden burst of energy from somewhere deep inside me, and started sprinting again – weaving through tourists and shoppers laden with bags, ducking under the barriers, running running running till my lungs burnt and my eyes streamed with tears. It was raining again, because of course it was, and I slipped on the wet pavement as I pushed through the waves of pedestrians intent on standing in my way. I ran and ran until I was in the centre of London, then forced myself to stop.</p><p>I stood and panted and gathered my bearings, trying to figure out what to do next. It was starting to get dark, and still pouring down with rain – I was absolutely freezing. The warm yellow glow of a café opposite me stained the pavement with its light and soft chatter coming from inside. It enticed me with its delicious savoury smell, and I could hear the twangs of a David Bowie song on the radio drifting out towards me. Even though I had no money, I subconsciously walked towards the building and leant my forehead against the cool glass, grateful for its awnings protecting me from the relentless rain. </p><p>When I opened my eyes, gazing in through the window, my vision started to blur from a mixture of exhaustion, hunger and desperation. I stared at the reams of customers, the bright lights making them swim before my itching eyes. I rubbed at them in frustration and was just poised to turn away and leave when the cadences of a familiar comforting voice cut through the rest of the buzzing noise. My breath caught in my throat… I hardly dared hope… it couldn’t be…</p><p>I eagerly pressed my nose up against the glass, making patterns every time I let out a shaking hopeful breath. My eyes flitted upon each face in the café, frustrated when they rested on a stranger, and finally fixated on the shimmering blonde hair and glittering blue eyes I’d been dreaming about since I left my mother’s house. </p><p>Katya.</p><p>I laughed before I could help myself, mostly out of joyous disbelief that I’d actually found her out of all the cafes in London, then slapped my hands across my mouth lest she’d hear my distinctive laugh. Given the way things ended between us, I wanted to be prepared in what to say when I finally went up to her, instead of finding myself gabbling and drivelling on about nothing. Scanning the table, I saw her sitting with a tall man with brown curly hair and a brown beard – judging by his flamboyant shirt, I guessed he was a queer too. I let out a sigh of relief – that meant she was safe, with people who knew who she was and cared about her. She was miserably nursing a tall mug of gummy looking coffee with her battered old suitcase resting on her lap. Her eyes sparkled with tears and her hands shook a little as she lifted them to drink from her mug. I felt so awful for being the cause of her misery that I automatically took a step into the café to comfort her, then realised what I’d done and attempted to gracefully back out again but my leg caught on a chair, making it scrape across the floor with a terrible conspicuous noise. Katya turned her head to look at the disturbance – and our eyes locked. </p><p>I could feel a pink blush flooding my cheeks. I wanted to curl up and die with embarrassment. Her eyes widening in surprise, and she trembled a little.</p><p>“Trixie?” she asked, in a weak voice. “What are you doing here? How-how did you find me?” she haltered, and the man sitting with her sat up a little straighter.</p><p>“This is Trixie?!” he asked disbelievingly. His strong American accent jolted me a little. I was sure I hadn’t seen him at Regatta before, yet his fairy-like voice was a strong indication that he did indeed bat for the other team.  Katya turned and shushed him gently.</p><p>“Not now, Pete. Trixie… are you okay?” she added gently. I could tell her caring maternal instincts were kicking in at the sight of my ratted hair, sodden clothes and ruined make up. </p><p>“I’m fine,” I dismissed. “I just… I ran away. I ran away from her. She was spewing a crock of shit, Katya. Of course I don’t believe that you seduced me for an easy fuck. Of course I’m not gonna be happier if I settle down with some boy and forget I was ever in love with you. Because – God! I love you so much, Katya, and I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like I didn’t.” </p><p>David Bowie blared on. A few of the people at the tables near us were listening in.</p><p>“So I ran away from her,” I continued. “I ran to find you, cos you’re the best bloody thing that’s ever happened to me, and we’re good for each other, I know we are. It’s like when we’re onstage and you’re getting up from the splits wearing those huge boots and need a hand to help you up. I’m your hand. And you’re mine. That was kind of a weird analogy, but you get what I mean. And I guess what I’m trying to say – very long-windedly – is that… we might be too young. We might be too stupid. But we have each other’s backs. And that’s all that matters. So, um… I don’t what I’m trying to say…” My voice trailed off, floundering after initially doing so well. I felt my cheeks stain even redder, suddenly conscious of all the people watching and the fact that I may have cocked things up forever. But then Katya stood up, and took my hand.</p><p>“I know what you’re trying to say. I feel it too. It’s weird, but I feel it too. I love you, and you know how I know that – truly, deeply know that? When I was leaving your house, and I was trying to think what my life would be like without you, I couldn’t do it. You’re gonna be a part of my life forever, whether you like it or not! And you did hurt me. I’m not gonna pretend otherwise- you really fucking hurt me, Trixie, and we need to talk about it later.” Her eyes still blazed with pain, and I realised just how deeply wounded she was. I nodded and took her other hand, staring intently into her eyes so she’d understand.</p><p>“I know. I never should have done that to you. I should have stood up to her and told her the truth straight away. But I’m never going back there – I never have to see her again. But, um… I would like to see you again. In the ‘every day’ kind of sense. But if you don’t want that… God, what am I saying?!” My awkwardness finally got the better of me and I thumped my hand on my forehead, hating myself for making such a tit of myself, but Katya gently took hold of my curled hand and unclenched the fist. </p><p>“I know,” she said, and leaned forward.</p><p>The kiss was better than all the other kisses we’d had together. It was a kiss of understanding, a kiss of knowing, a kiss that said ‘we have each other’s backs, no matter what’. It was a kiss that cemented in my mind that THIS was it, SHE was the one, and now I was surer of that than I ever had been of anything. </p><p>The whole café was watching us now, I could sense. A couple of people haughtily stood up and left. A couple of people sighed dreamily and clapped gently. Most people simply smiled, sharing our moment with contentment. My heart fluttered in my throat and my cold fingers rested limply on her collarbone, curled slightly. Her long eyelashes tickled mine, and her hands were steady on the small of my back. It was a cliché, but I suddenly realised that clichés are clichés because they're true.</p><p>And David Bowie crooned on the radio:</p><p>“They said we were too young<br/>Our kind of love was no fun<br/>But our love comes from above<br/>Let’s make… love”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it! It's pouring with rain here, and I'm curled up in bed, writing and listening to disco. </p><p>The David Bowie song is 'Let's Spend The Night Together' - give it a listen, it's a banger!</p><p>Leave me a comment to make a young gal's day ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Symphony No. 6 in B Minor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>skshfhkwhfgj how long has it been! I can only apologise my darlings, life got in the way. I am now a university student! I like this chapter a lot, I hope you do too! Points to whoever can guess the classic movie that I reference!<br/>Enjoy, my lovelies xxx</p><p>Song for this chapter: Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6 in B Minor, Op. 74 "Pathetique": II. Allegro con Grazia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After we reluctantly broke apart, Katya felt my hands and exclaimed at how cold they were. She ushered me to sit down in the spare seat at the table and Pete trotted to the counter to get me a hot drink. While he was gone Katya wrestled open her suitcase and dredged through it to find a thick fleecy woollen shawl that she wrapped around my shoulders, then we sat huddled up together with her warm hands on my frozen ones. I may have been cold, but inside I was glowing – she loved me, she loved me! No matter what happened next, we had each other. </p><p>“So, Pete,” I said, sipping at my too-hot tea once he’d placed it in front of me. “How do you and Katya know each other?”</p><p>He chuckled slightly. “We met in San Fran – you know, working with Milk. Doing protests and staging kiss-ins and just generally causing a bit of mischief. Then before I know she’s sailed off to Thailand and I go to England to find my fortune – by the biggest coincidence, we bumped into each other again.”</p><p>“Has she always been this mad?” I tease, grinning.</p><p>“Hey!” exclaimed Katya, mock-hurt.</p><p>Pete grinned and chuckled. “Oh, you know it, honey. The stories I could tell you!”</p><p>I laughed and said I couldn’t wait to hear, then we rested into comfortable silence, nursing our drinks. The sky outside darkened to deep velvet, and Katya turned to me. </p><p>“My love, we need to make a plan. I slept on the street last night but I’m not comfortable putting you in that danger. Where can we go? Pete, do you know any hostels? Trix, do you have any money?” she started to tense a little, raking a hand through her messy hair.</p><p>I shook my head. “I didn’t bring anything with me – no money, no clothes. I only brought this,” I said, placing the sodden Dorian Gray on the plastic table. Its pages were wavy with damp and delicate to touch, but its bold pencil scribblings were unmistakable. Katya’s grin slowly crept back on her face as she laid a hand on its cover. </p><p>“My book! You kept it, all this time…” she said softly, and she looked so gorgeous I had to kiss her again, only breaking apart when Pete primly cleared his throat. </p><p>“You could bunk with Sasha for the night? They once said they take in desperate kids on the run?” he suggested, and suddenly that solution seemed so painfully obvious I was astounded at how it hadn’t occurred to me before.</p><p>“That’s true! We could totally go to Sasha’s. I don’t know about you, but I am feeling pretty desperate right now. Oh, we can so stay at Sasha’s.”</p><p>Katya’s face clouded, then cleared. </p><p>“Babe, you’re a genius,” she said, and kissed me again. </p><p>Pete shifted in his seat. </p><p>“I’m glad you thought of it,” he said jokingly. Katya looked at him fondly. </p><p>“Oh Pete,” she said, and swooped towards him to kiss his cheek. He blushed furiously and put on a big show of being all embarrassed and loved-up, clutching where she’d kissed him and sighing. Katya and I cackled with laughter. </p><p> </p><p>We stayed in the café for as long as possible, soaking up the warmth, reluctant to exit into the coldness and uncertainty of outside. The staff were wiping down tables and storing the chairs, passive-aggressively shooting us ‘please leave now’ looks, so we finally decided to make tracks. Outside, the cold bit me even more than I thought it would. I shivered and dragged Katya’s shawl tighter round my shoulders. </p><p>Katya was giving Pete a hug, murmuring thanks in his ear and clasping his body tightly. When they parted he squeezed her hand one last time, then looked at us both.</p><p>“Good luck to you. I really am in awe of you, to be honest. I wish I’d had the guts to stand up to my parents when I was nineteen.” he said, folding me in a hug. I clung to him, hoping I’d get the chance to see him again. I suddenly felt very small and very young. </p><p>He eventually let me go, gave Katya one last peck on the cheek, then turned into the darkness and walked off. </p><p>Katya and I stood staring at each other for a moment. I was trying to hide how scared I felt by forcing my mouth into a smile and arching my back, making myself taller. Katya saw through me.</p><p>“It’s gonna be okay, Trix. Really, I promise. Sasha will take us in, they’ll know what to do. And after that… things really will be okay.” My façade started crumbling and I suddenly shot into her arms, hiding my face in her hair. She held me close, stroking my back, my hair, my face.</p><p>“The most important thing is that we found each other, baby. And we’re never gonna let each other go. In a couple of years you’re gonna be so sick of me that you’re BEGGING to leave!” she joked, and I snorted with half-laughter, half-tears.</p><p>“Let’s go, honey. It’s getting late.” She picked up her suitcase, slid her hand into mine, and we walked to Sasha’s. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello?” Katya called up at the flats, while I banged on the door. It must have been nearly midnight now, and I hoped with all my heart that Sasha was at home. <br/>“Sasha, are you in?” Katya had pushed open the letter box and was yelling into the dark hall. One of the windows at the front of the house and a man’s head poked out. </p><p>“What the hell do you think you’re doing? It’s the middle of the night!” He croaked gruffly. </p><p>“I’m sorry to wake you. Do you know if Sasha Velour is in? I think they live above you,” Katya said politely. The man’s face soured. </p><p>“Yeah, the freak’s in. He, or she, or they, or whatever. I’ve a good mind to complain to the landlord, bringing all sorts of weirdos and queers and fags in all hours of the night. This is a decent house.” He continued to rant, but Katya had turned round and picked up a handful of gravel. Ignoring the man, she flung it at Sasha’s window and it bounced off, making a satisfying pinging noise. </p><p>Finally Sasha’s small window opened and their head poked out. </p><p>“Katya?” they said groggily. “What are you doing? </p><p>Katya clasped my hand. “Trix and I have left home. We need a place to sleep, Sash. We don’t have any money, or anyway to go… can we crash at yours? Just for old time’s sake.”</p><p>Sasha’s head disappeared from the window, and we heard a creaking on the stairs. Sasha appeared, and enveloped us both in a hug. </p><p>“Of course you can stay,” they said gently. “I’m so glad you came to me. Come in, before you catch your death.” They took hold of my hand and lead us inside. <br/>“Oh, you’re not bringing a pair of dykes in here! You’re in for it, Velour. I’ll get the council down on you like a ton of bricks. I know your sort.”</p><p>Sasha closed the front door with a boom and cut out the man’s droning rants. </p><p>“Forget about him, darlings. I have half a mind to tell his wife that he brings in young girls and locks the front door every time she’s at the hairdressers. Now, come in, come upstairs.”</p><p>We weaved up the dark creaking stairs and into Sasha’s softly lit apartment. It was so gorgeous, I forgot myself and stared around it for a minute. The light was a gently glowing orange – I noticed all the lamps had coloured scarves draped over the top to change the colour. The light illuminated the room, and I saw all the random objects they had scattered about – old issues of Vogue from the 1940s; books of poetry; faded polaroids; sequined high heeled boots that glittered gently in the glow. Then my eyes caught sight of all the plants. There must have been fifty plants cluttered in the tiny room, all different types. A swinging vine crept up the walls, a giant swiss cheese plant hunched in the corner, tiny cacti ornated the windowsill. To my tired, itching eyes, it was the best room I’d ever been in. </p><p>Sasha saw me staring round the room and smiled. </p><p>“I’m very protective of my home,” they said, running a hand across the cracked leather sofa. “It’s my own little space that I made myself. I love it. I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep on the floor in here, I don’t have any other room!”</p><p>They pulled out a few spare blankets from a cupboard while Katya and I constructed a makeshift mattress from the soft sofa cushions. Once the bed was made up, it was actually quite cosy. </p><p>“I’m going back to bed now, will you two be okay? There’s food in the refrigerator if you’re hungry, and I always have coffee going in the morning. If you need anything, just nudge me awake. Goodnight, my loves.” </p><p>Katya and I scrambled into the little bed, shivering with cold and excitement. Katya gave me a kiss and was asleep almost immediately, worn out from the burdens of the day. I lay awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling. It was so strange that only this morning I’d still been a prisoner in my mother’s house, thinking I’d never see Katya again. If someone had told me that I’d be in London with Katya snoring gently by my side, I would have rolled my eyes and disbelieved them. But now here I was, with a whole free future spread out in front of me. </p><p>I quivered a little, kissed Katya’s hair, turned over, and fell into a deep sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The movie I reference is Singin In The Rain, when Katya says "Trix, you're a genius" and Pete pretends to be hurt. I was watching it the other day and thought that bit would fit, fhakjhjkwa</p><p>Sasha's apartment borrows a little of its aesthetic from the apartments in Tuca and Bertie, if you haven't watched that, please do. It's on Netflix and it's AWESOME!!</p><p>Until we meet again, my darlings *tips hat*</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Keep on the Sunny Side</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>YOU GUYS!!!! it's the last chapter</p><p> </p><p>Ohhhh my god, I can't believe we're here. I wrote this as a little whimsical side project to distract me from my awful brain, and it turns out I care about it a lot!! Is that lame? It's probably lame, but I don't care. </p><p>Thank you so much to everyone who's read, kudos'ed, commented... you're all lil angels and I love you. I'm considering doing some epilogues/continuations of the story, let me know if I should do that. But I'll definitely be writing some more Trixya fics not in this universe. </p><p>And now, I guess, the only thing left to say is thank you, read, and enjoy xxx</p><p>Song for this chapter:  Keep on the Sunny Side, by Trixie Mattel</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I was awoken the next morning by the scream of the kettle and the gentle clinking of metal against glass. I looked up blearily to see Sasha in the kitchen, making coffee in their cafetiere.</p><p>“What time is it?” I said quietly, surprised by how croaky and broken my voice was. Sasha turned round and grinned at me.</p><p>“Good morning! It’s just after ten. I let you sleep in a little. Would you like some coffee?”</p><p>I nodded and gratefully accepted the warm mug, cradling it in my hands and watching the thin plume of steam trail across the surface, illuminated by the weak morning sun streaming in from the window. I tried not to shift around too much, aware of Katya’s still slumbering body next to me. Sasha looked at us both and smiled fondly. </p><p>“I really love her, you know. We’ve been through some tough times together. She’s helped me out more times than I can count. The least I can do is help you both out now.”</p><p>I opened my mouth to reply, but Katya groaned and stirred and rubbed her eyes, distracting me. She squinted at me with sleep-crusted eyes, stretching her arms out.</p><p>“Mmmmmmorning,” she said, yawning. “I can’t remember the last time I woke up next to you. I’ve always had to rush off at four in the morning to avoid getting caught. I like it.” </p><p>I chuckled. “I like it too,” I said softly. “Do you want some coffee? Sasha’s made some,” </p><p>She sat up properly, the sun glinting off her crumpled hair.</p><p>“God, I’m gagging for a coffee. Sash, do you mind if I smoke?” she said, reaching for the mug Sasha offered her. Sasha shook their head. </p><p>“No. Just don’t get ash on my sheets, which I know you are fully capable of, you pig woman.”</p><p>We all laughed, then lapsed into comfortable silence, broken only by Katya and I sipping on our coffees. I stood up to get dressed but remembered I had slept in my clothes as I didn’t have any others. That probably needed to be rectified, as I already felt grimy and sweaty. I shyly asked Sasha if I could borrow a few of their clothes just to tide me over, but instead they swept over to a small copper box and dug out some notes.</p><p>They pressed a wad of money into my palm and I stared at it, bewildered.</p><p>“What’s this? Sash, I can’t take your money,” I protested, but Sasha waved it away. </p><p>“Take the day off, hon. Go into town, buy some new clothes, mooch around the markets, chase the pigeons, go to a cafe. You deserve a rest, and to be a tourist for a day. These are your earnings from all those months you performed at Regatta, and you didn’t take a single penny for it. Use it to get the bus to Trafalgar Square. Go and have fun, Trix.”</p><p>I looked at Katya, and her lips twitched into a smile. I so hated to be indebted to anyone, and to feel like a charity case - but I guess I had earned this, in a weird way. I smiled back. </p><p>“Let’s do it,” I said wildly, extending my hand to Katya. </p><p> </p><p>Once we were out in the shining October sunshine, we decided against taking a bus into town, and instead walked, our hands lazily intertwined, peering in shop windows, talking about whatever came into our heads. We skittered lazily down to Trafalgar Square, sat on the steps, ate sandwiches from a cafe and soaked up the last dregs of the autumn sunlight before winter snatched it away for four months. We watched people pass - girls in short skirts and kneehigh boots, boys with long hair and flared corduroy trousers - while sharing tea from a flask and letting the burnt orange leaves brush past our feet, and oh! It was so lovely. </p><p>After a stern security guard gave us stony glares for climbing on top of the huge lion statues, we settled at the edge of the fountain and took turns flicking coins in and making wishes. Three or four wishes in, we got giggly and stopped taking it seriously. </p><p>“Okay, okay,” Katya said, breathless with laughter. “I wish the Berlin Wall could come down so I could go back to East Berlin and get a Krapfen from this incredible stall run by a crazy old blind lady. They were the best things I’ve ever eaten and now I’ll never get them again. It’s a travesty, man,”</p><p>“Hang on, THAT’S the worst thing about the Berlin Wall? And when did you go to Berlin?!” I questioned, convinced she was just making it up at this point. </p><p>“I went on a holiday there with a bunch of kids I knew when I was about eight or nine, I can’t remember. It was just before the wall went up. And we mostly ran wild, but I distinctly remember getting these Krapfen - doughnuts - from this stall in a marketplace. I wish you could taste ‘em, Trix. They were honestly unbelievable,” she seemed to go into a dreamlike coma remembering the doughnuts, and I nudged her to bring her back to reality.</p><p>“I thought you didn’t like food?” I teased.</p><p>“I don’t. Just those doughnuts.” she rebuffed, and set me into cackles. </p><p>“Okay, it’s my turn for a wish. Hmmmm… I wish...” I looked all around, trying to think of something funny to say, then my eyes landed on a busker playing a guitar, surrounded by tourists. My eyes suddenly bulged with tears. </p><p>“My guitar!! I left my guitar at home!” I cried, distraught. It sounds inconsequential, but that guitar had been my lifeline over the past ten years. It was the only way I could coax myself out of crying all night, it was the only thing that gave me hope for the future, it was the only thing I could ever imagine doing a career for the rest of my life. Katya’s eyebrows knitted together in sympathy, and she covered my hands in hers. She knew how much that guitar meant to me, and she let me gather my feelings in respectful silence. </p><p>When I’d recovered, we went clothes shopping at Camden Market. Katya had an incredible eye for things that would suit me, diving in to find a dark green jumper that went beautifully with my hair; swooping towards a stall to snatch up a cute flowery dress; elbowing away dwindling tourists to haggle a black velvet dress coat from a wizened old man running a stall that looked like it was from the 1940s. After only two hours, I had a bulging bag full of clothes to sustain me for a long while. </p><p>“What should we do now?” Katya asked. I could see the sun starting to tickle the tops of the trees surrounding the market, and I had an overwhelming urge to see it.</p><p>“Can we find a park and sit in the sunset? The sky is so beautiful I’d hate to miss it,” I said, and Katya nodded. <br/>“I think there’s a park over there, if I remember rightly,” she said, taking my hand and weaving through the busy streets. She was right, there was a small park edging the bustling roads, with only a few people milling about. It was perfect. </p><p>We trotted across the park and found a small secluded spot surrounded by bushes that meant no one could see us. We settled on the grass, nestled into one another, watching the blazing sun make a lazy trail across the blue, blue sky. Huge oak trees arched above us, and occasionally a crisp leaf would drift down onto our heads, making us start and laugh shakily. Rose bushes crept along the side of the seclusion, and Katya plucked a pink rose blossom with nimble fingers and passed it to me. I held it to my nose and inhaled its sweet scent deeply, revelling in how calm I felt and how perfect this moment was. Katya smiled at me and kissed my cheek, then tutted at how she’d left a smear of bright red lipstick on my skin and went to wipe it off. I shielded it with my hand, wanting to wear it like a badge of affection. After the sun was mostly set, Katya stretched and stood up. </p><p>“I’m hungry. Are you hungry? I’ll get us some food,” she said. I made to stand up too, but she laid a hand on my shoulder.</p><p>“You stay here and relax, моя любовь. I’ll be back soon.” </p><p>Once she was gone, I lay back on the grass and stared up at the sky. The leaves of the oak tree above my head swayed in the gentle breeze, and the sky seemed so impossibly blue. The grass tickled my neck and cheeks and I wondered, just for a second, if this really was heaven. The heady scent of the roses overpowered me, and I felt my eyes twitching closed with fatigue. Soon I was slumbering gently, with the birds singing me to sleep. </p><p>“Trixie? Wake up, мед! I’ve got a surprise for you!” Katya’s voice bolted me awake, and I sat up, yawning gently. </p><p>“What food did you get? I swear, if you got that weird hippie falafel and pickled seaweed again I’m not eating it. I told you before I didn’t like it,” I said, rubbing sleep from my eyes. </p><p>“I didn’t get the falafel, I promise. Open your eyes, Trix,” I opened them slowly and suspiciously, then saw what she was holding. My mouth dropped open. My eyes filled with tears. I was speechless. Katya’s face was fixed in a permanent grin. </p><p>She was holding a guitar, the most beautiful guitar I’d ever seen. It was shiny, pearly white, with painted doves flying delicately across the body. Its neck was a dark chocolate brown, and its tuning pegs were silver and glinting. I was still incapable of speech, until Katya gently placed it in my lap. </p><p>“Katya…” I breathed softly, and she understood what I meant. She understood that I’d never had anyone show me this level of kindness and selflessness before, and to realise that someone cared about me this much was overwhelming. She understood that I didn’t know how to vocalise my gratitude, because this action had touched me so deeply. She understood all of this, of course, because she understood me, and loved me, and knew me so well. </p><p>She sat down beside me, tilted my chin up softly and kissed me. I melted into it, leaning against her, feeling her warm skin against mine, the tickle of her hair on my cheek, the sensation of her fingers ghosting up and down my arm. </p><p>It didn’t matter that I didn’t have a home now. When I opened my eyes, and looked into her face, I was home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is the end. But the moment has been prepared for. Thank you for coming on this journey with me, and let me know if you'd like to see some more stuff set in this universe. </p><p>Love y'all. Be gay, do crimes ;)</p>
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